Tag Archives: Jeffrey Winter

Foam

My father comes to me in shorts and a button-up shirt only half-buttoned up; these are not the clothes in which we buried him. A file of chigger bites runs the length of his shinbone and he shuffles pigeon-toed into … Continue reading

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Tattoo

It was his tattoo that kept me coming back, kept me fighting through his fists to get at his heart. He worked fitfully and drank constantly; he smoked on weekends. His friends had to be fended off. When one of … Continue reading

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