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my father |
when i was five my parents split my father had one of those seventies mustaches. it was the late 80s and my mother was masculine in the birmingham steel mill when i was eight i had only seen him twice since the split, my father, he sounded desperate on the phone said something about living with the indians in the mountains he said he'd send me an arrowhead he said they were everywhere i looked in the mailbox every day for two years when i was ten he wrote a letter to my mother i found it in her desk and read it he said something about hell something about karma, though he didn't use that word it's the only word that comes to mind now when i was thirteen he called me said he was living in the area he took me fishing we waded in the red iron river waving our poles dropping our earthworms drowning them in the water i asked him about the arrowheads and why he left my mother for a fat woman who was cruel he said he forgot the arrowheads he said my mother stopped paying attention to him, grew cold he said he met harrison ford and tommy lee jones on the reservation on the set of the fugitive he said he went fishing with them that he was a baker and made tommy lee's birthday cake he said harrison was an asshole, but he didn't use that word. i can't picture him saying karma or asshole he isn't a native american he was just running. child support, agony, misery, the law he said he drank moonshine and had a gun pulled on him he said he'd call |