by Darcie Raridon
Need for a father
felt like a pox.
So, I buried mine
in a box-top-box.
It’s stuffed
full of lessons,
he never taught,
wrapped in clothes
he never bought,
and I scribbled
his obituary
on the first, and
only postcard
I ever got.
Category: Featured, Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU Student