Featured Poet: William Cushing — With Dad


Gone and now cremated,
I wait for my sister
to meet me at his now-
once bungalow. Searching
through the remains,
sifting among clothes
he left behind,

I put on a jacket
hanging in the closet,
turn toward the mirror
on an opposing wall.
I see gray hair and a beard,
half a century old,
but below that,

the jacket swallows
the child: its shoulders end
at my biceps; the cuffs
of each sleeve brush
against my knuckles.
Blushing, I remove the coat,
turn back to the closet, and

return it to its rightful place.

Bill Cushing is an English Instructor at Mt. San Antonio and East Los Angeles colleges and obtained his MFA in Creative Nonfiction Writing at Goddard College.   You can keep up with his latest exploits on Facebook.

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