My father tells me I'm a witch.
A good one, maybe. His guardian angel.
He smokes pot on the back porch,
adamant that it is killing him.
The doctors say he's losing oxygen to his brain.
I close my eyes and hug him.
He smells like cigarette smoke
and regrets.
oh oh oh oh this.
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Excellent!
Really very effective work, poignant, with a real humanity.
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Perfect
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Loved your literal approach, tweaked just a little at the end.
"Adamant"... good word!
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really like this. intriguing open.
what if you closed it with
he smells of smoke and regret
.. just a thought.. it is how i read it..
m
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Yeah. That last line break is jarring and the wording does feel a little funny.
Definitely considering rewriting this. I enjoy vignettes.
(thank you.)
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