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.

5 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.")

ThomG said...

The other photo is imaginary, yes.