Holding My Father’s Hand

by Violet Foster

St. Lawrence University

Violet Foster is a freshman at St. Lawrence University, majoring in English with a minor in Gender and Sexuality studies. They’re never caught without a pen, but when they are, you can find them singing with the Laurentian Singers, visiting their cattle at home, or drinking far too much caffeine. 

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The sun’s warmth feels like blood spilling 
All over my face. The poplar trees 
Catch me in their speckled bark. I 
Justified my hunger to escape and 
Now I'm holding my father’s hand. He 
Used to be holding mine. Pointing at 
The poplar trees when they were small. 
They were my favorite tree until I grew 
Older. Old enough to be fucked against one. 
Big farmhouse, always in my room, avoid 
Doing work, helping him, telling myself 
It was natural, I was young, I was to 
Be writing day and night and day and 
Every waking moment of every day 
Until I was 18 and crying at 1 a.m. 
Forgetting everything but the feeling 
Of holding my father’s hairless hand. 

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