Peter Schwartz

by Best Poem

daughter

I’ve been fathering elsewhere
too cowardly to name my children
since most of them die

truth is I have only her
a starving little version of myself
dressed in a pale blue dress

painfully beautiful, standing by
the station or picking pennies
out of the fountain

her dark eyes don’t match,
my fault.

her hair hangs like seaweed
and she often cries for candy
lollipops and jawbreakers

her favorite ache is from
the shadows; the violence flashing
between two worlds

like shark fins
circling on an other-
wise calm day.

anything, she’ll say in her
fragile teacup voice, her birth-
pink hands gesturing

even more wrinkled than mine
like she’s forever just stepping
in from the rain

a half-apology
stuck in the soft-
ness of her lips;

daddy.

Peter Schwartz has more styles than a Natal Midlands Dwarf Chameleon. He’s been published in Arsenic Lobster, Epicenters, Media Cake, 5 Trope, Verdad and VOX. He’s currently working on his fourth chapbook, ‘Postcards to the Sun’. See the extent of his shenanigans at: www.sitrahahra.com.

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