Poetry Contest Winner
Tori Cybulski
My father loves within his means of love. He was never the kind to give us a hug and a kiss, tell us he was proud. The hard parent, there was always something to do better and bins to clean at the farm, where he spent most of his time providing for us. His love is shown in that way; through a washed car, warm shower, and meal on the table. For my mom, however, his love is different; he’s almost a different man. He holds her hand in the car on the way back from the grocery store, and the way he looks at her is like looking at a million stars when you’ve been too busy. I guess what I’m saying is that she melts him, he’s the Fudgsicle in the hands of a sugar-free five-year-old; chocolate all down the front of the shirt.
.
.
.
The Rocky Mountain Review 