Forever 42

Updated: Jul 6


The closest I came to touching my dad lives in my imagination.

In his dying days, my mother,

Pregnant, believes this third child will be a boy, wants to name it Peter.

I see my dad put his head on her tummy.

"Naw, this is a girl," he says through tired, sad eyes.

Tina Louise dribbled off his tongue like honey off a biscuit.

And I am tied to the ghost of a man like buttons on his favorite shirt.

My father, forever 42.



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