Quill & Parchment: Father

Father
by Lisa Williams

In the stony trees are the witches
of my past.
One on a bare branch
rides into morning darkly.
She takes me where black birds
circle round cemeteries,
where my father arises
to say how it goes so fast.
“Please,” he entreats me.
“Enjoy your life,”
then disappears beneath briny soil.

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