Conley, Francine Heather / How dumb the stars
Kin, pp. 33- ff.
Kin Underneath my lip lives a pierced scar with a father moving around its pale stitch. This is called six years old; no, it's called catching father, like a roman arch straddled over a woman, their love making a window to an unsuspecting storm. In that moment-the basement bed half- alive-I smelled every fish he'd caught and felt the crime of the bait. Standing hidden by shadow and door, I watched them like a moth, dumb by light. Did he notice? Or was it my nightgown rustling that caused them to look at me with hooks in their mouths? I knew then, there are parts of you you cannot hide. Like breathing. Or his face. Most of his wrinkles now match the stories he's told, but there are one or two hidden in the corners that refuse to find a place to settle. They wander his skin, unsure as that stunned child who wants to believe the fish thrown back will live. 33
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