I forgot father

by Christos Polydorou

He made the
wings.
I got to try
them.
I got to

fly.

I
flew.
He stayed on the
island.
Remained a prisoner of his own
castle.

I

fell.
I am

still falling.
This is

life.

This is

love,
or at least the

love between
a father and son.

Incarcerated
together
then centuries
apart
wondering

what was lost.
Calls in the wilderness.

Night terrors.

Where are you father,
come summer?

I am your son,
I am not

your daughter
falling as heavy as an open

bag of feathers

No matter the season

The weather :

Catch me

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