Sunday Scribblings: Photograph

Wild At Heart
There’s a photograph of my father in his bedroom junk drawer. Black-and-white, faded, the glossy paper is cracked; it shows him near a stick hut, surrounded by natives. His pale skin is a direct opposite of the men who surround him. They are all naked – including my stick-thin father - except for the koteka, a penis sheath made out of gourd. The men around him all smile, but their arms are crossed, stern. My father’s face is different.
He wears the look of a man who has found serenity, true peace.

Comments

Tumblewords: said…
Nice photo and interesting prose! Good job!
Granny Smith said…
Beautiful photograph and vivid writing about another (imaginary?) photograph.
Large Marge said…
Yean, like Granny said, damn nice photo! And I think the other photo is imaginary, right??
Large Marge said…
And the answer is?

(Sorry, meant to say "Yeah" above, not "Yean"... Although I sort of like "Yean.")
The other photo is imaginary, yes.

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