- Father Apologized
and his kids were silent. Father cracked his heelbone and his kids were silent. The kids cracked their knuckles. The grass was silent. The father apologized to the grass by taking it between his lips. The grass flossed the father by apologizing to his teeth. The earth tensed and moaned. Dirt cracked and the kids were silent. The kids’ heads rattled like lightbulbs with filaments loose, same as how father once rattled them. The earth apologized by releasing a cloud. It smelled of rotting fish. A rotting fish is a fish that has already died, father declared. The kids were silent, history etched in their skulls. They once flopped like fish on a hot wet dock. You’ll grow up to be like me, father said. And I’m sorry for that. [End Page 33]
Marty Cain is originally from Vermont. He received his BA from Hamilton College, and he is currently an MFA candidate at the University of Mississippi. His writing has appeared in The Journal, HTML Giant, Rattle, PANK, and elsewhere.