Words Never Found the Way

Politically Poetic

 That February morning snowed like never before. In his worn-out Soviet car, my father drove me to the train station. Its four AM. It’s dark and bitter cold. We made a stop at a gas station. There is no heating in the auto I hugged my blessing sleeping on my lap, listening to shortwave radio with frequencies that overlapped. The smell of stale cigarette aroused familiar senses Awoken bitter memory that flashed in front of me one by one. Like video clips with magnifying lenses. Somewhere in between the memory scenes I drifted into reverie. Cold breezed in through my old jeans. Snow was falling heavily. I glanced at the worrisome face of my father He gently smiled without saying a word. He was a kind man and didn’t bother Expressing emotions he considered absurd. That February morning when I hugged him goodbye He kissed my baby holding on to…

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