Contributor: Heather Browne

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My father is old.
Blind.
A softened smile when I cross his linoleum speckled floor
to his bed.
Time to share.
I spoon him careful chunks of apple pie
as he talks of long ago.
Climbing trees high for the grandest view.
Looking off for tomorrow’s rain.
Vanilla ice cream dripping down his grizzily chin.
I gently wipe the memory away.
“Thank you girlie girl”, he chirps in his aged scratchy voice.

I look in his blinded eyes
clouded.
As blue as a summer sky.
My father is old.
He cannot see.
He cannot see me.


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Heather Browne is a newly launched published poet. Residing in So. California with her husband of 20 years and her 2 amazing teen kids. She is a faith-based psychotherapist.