By Menke HB
“Angie Marie Barton!” Dad gestures at the shattered glass. “You are so grounded!”
Standing with one hand in my skirt pocket, I stare at his tattered loafers. My thumb finds a piece of gum, and I move my tongue against my teeth as if blowing a bubble. Her kisses smelled of spearmint.
“Look me in the eyes!” he barks.
“I didn’t mean to break Mom’s picture!” My voice is a whisper. “I just wanted to touch her.”
His stubby fingers gently brush the shards from her windswept hair. “Take it.”
I clutch her as Dad’s bedroom door falls shut once more.
I so like the way the dad grew tender at the end.
Shared grief that is not able to be shared.
Heartbreaking – on so many levels