Daddy," I whispered, feeling my own breath hitch in my throat. "I love you."
Just when I was sure he was asleep, the one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "I knew that," he murmured. "Always knew that.
Stichwörter: love daughters fathers daddies
What their scorned, over-fucked mothers never teach them is this: men can be hurt, too.
Darnell Lamont WalkerStichwörter: pain men mothers daughters
Even as a small child, I understood that woman had secrets, and that some of these were only to be told to daughters. In this way we were bound together for eternity.
Alice HoffmanStichwörter: woman secrets mothers daughters woman-s-secrets
She was a monster, but she was my monster.
Jeanette WintersonStichwörter: monsters mothers daughters
blue-gold sky, fresh cloud,
emerald-black mountain, trees
on rocky ledges,
on the summit, the tiny pin
of a telephone tower-all
brilliantly clear,
in shadow and out.
and on and through
everything
everywhere
the sun shines
without reservation (p. 97)
Stichwörter: love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying mother grief conflict healing dying poems daughters verse memoirs cancer son death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother alchoholism death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son grievindeath-and-daughters new-york-quarterly verses
...gripping the
rim of the sink
you claw your
way to stand
and cling there,
quaking with
will, on
heron legs,
and still the hot
muck pours
out of you. (p. 27)
Stichwörter: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
I could simply
kill you now,
get it over with,
who would
know the difference?
I could easily
kick you in, stove you
under, for all those times,
mean on gin,
you rammed words
into my belly. (p. 52)
Stichwörter: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict soul-searching mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters letting-go verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness love-and-hate grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
oh.
she heard it
too-no waters
coursing, canyon
empty, sun
soundless-
and the beast
your life
nowhere
hiding (p. 103)
Stichwörter: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict soul-searching mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters letting-go verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness love-and-hate grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
Reading Aloud to My Father
I chose the book haphazard
from the shelf, but with Nabokov's first
sentence I knew it wasn't the thing
to read to a dying man:
The cradle rocks above an abyss, it began,
and common sense tells us that our existence
is but a brief crack of light
between two eternities of darkness.
The words disturbed both of us immediately,
and I stopped. With music it was the same --
Chopin's Piano Concerto — he asked me
to turn it off. He ceased eating, and drank
little, while the tumors briskly appropriated
what was left of him.
But to return to the cradle rocking. I think
Nabokov had it wrong. This is the abyss.
That's why babies howl at birth,
and why the dying so often reach
for something only they can apprehend.
At the end they don't want their hands
to be under the covers, and if you should put
your hand on theirs in a tentative gesture
of solidarity, they'll pull the hand free;
and you must honor that desire,
and let them pull it free.
Stichwörter: grief dying comfort daughters fathers
We’re not protecting our daughters if we forbid makeup, eschew fashionable hairstyles, or wear dowdy clothes. The feminine form is beautiful. Sure, we don’t want to hide behind makeup or wear immodest clothes to draw attention to ourselves. But there’s nothing wrong with wanting to accent our femininity.
Kate WickerStichwörter: beauty christian modesty catholic daughters body-image femininity raising-kids
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