Dad hanging onto the pier
after his ship has sailed on
astounds his daughter--she is old, too--
Her father was a battleship.
How many times did she surrender
and see her little skiff dismembered!
Her sire was a man of war; she, a very quiet
pirate, has dressed in a black flag for years--
Now he's just a little buoy
floating on an unresponsive sea--
Aides prop him up; insignificance bobs.
Things won't be very different now
and quieter. Did she love him? She smiles--
The wreck of her life corresponds with a void.
This was first published in The Bryant Literary Review, Vol. 18, 2017
Before this poem was accepted by BLR, it was rejected by a magazine, the editor of which informed me that she had no desire to print a poem about sexual abuse. This interpretation was news to me, but I suppose it is possible. From my point of view, it's about a troubled father-daughter relationship, an abusive one, yes, but not necessarily a sexually abusive one. Sister Wigberta, by the way, was the name of a nun at the Thomas Morus Burse in Freiburg, Germany, where I lived 1965-1966. One of her main functions was to check our rooms periodically, in order to see to it that no student took down the obligatory cross from the wall. Sister Wigberta, where are you now?
after his ship has sailed on
astounds his daughter--she is old, too--
Her father was a battleship.
How many times did she surrender
and see her little skiff dismembered!
Her sire was a man of war; she, a very quiet
pirate, has dressed in a black flag for years--
Now he's just a little buoy
floating on an unresponsive sea--
Aides prop him up; insignificance bobs.
Things won't be very different now
and quieter. Did she love him? She smiles--
The wreck of her life corresponds with a void.
This was first published in The Bryant Literary Review, Vol. 18, 2017
Before this poem was accepted by BLR, it was rejected by a magazine, the editor of which informed me that she had no desire to print a poem about sexual abuse. This interpretation was news to me, but I suppose it is possible. From my point of view, it's about a troubled father-daughter relationship, an abusive one, yes, but not necessarily a sexually abusive one. Sister Wigberta, by the way, was the name of a nun at the Thomas Morus Burse in Freiburg, Germany, where I lived 1965-1966. One of her main functions was to check our rooms periodically, in order to see to it that no student took down the obligatory cross from the wall. Sister Wigberta, where are you now?
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