Bitter Tomorrows

Poem

Photo by Jan Huber on Unsplash

I dreamt of stems, anchors, and roots,
abiding in places of solitude. My daughter’s
woes excavated to a heart’s depth where roots
sought comfort to sleep and dream.
I can see why dad married you?
Not a compliment. A recognition of
faults. An unsettling misnomer. Why are
daughters, our ghostly mirror selves. A
weakening, dilution, a distillation of our
pretenses with a flavoring of pithiness,
acerbic, and the generational…