The Father, The Son, And Me

Jan 17
2016

I stand on my parents’ back lawn, dead brown grass crunching under my feet, early morning light slithering through the trees and watch through the kitchen window as my father finally chokes my mother to death. Workman’s hands stained brown from years of carpentry clutch my mother’s neck like a child clutches a favorite toy. After all these years, he’s found his strength and it shows in the white half-moons that appear on Momma’s neck underneath the tips of his fingers.