<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Great-Granddaughter<\/strong><\/p>\n When I arrived you called me John, I sat Therese on your mattress She seemed to see nothing She knows little of the Rubicon you\u2019ve crossed, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Daniel Fitzpatrick<\/strong> grew up in New Orleans, Louisiana, and now lives in Hot Springs, Arkansas, with his wife and daughter. He holds a BA in Philosophy from the University of Dallas, and his poems have appeared in 2River View, Coe Review, <\/i>and Eunoia Review<\/i>, among others.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Great-Granddaughter When I arrived you called me John, Katie\u2019s John, I guess, mixed up with me in the background meadow of memory. I sat Therese on your mattress but cradled her away when her babble started flicking at your lids, her blindness shining off your yawning false teeth. She couldn\u2019t see the difference […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13694","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13694","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13694"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13694\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13695,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13694\/revisions\/13695"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13694"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13694"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13694"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nKatie\u2019s John, I guess, mixed up with me
\nin the background meadow of memory.<\/p>\n
\nbut cradled her away when her babble
\nstarted flicking at your lids,
\nher blindness shining off your yawning false teeth.
\nShe couldn\u2019t see the difference in your skin,
\nthe frescoes of the beating treatment,
\nthe white bones in the bruised
\nblack back of your hand,
\nor the whiteness like fungus veining your horned feet
\nwhen Katie drew up the sheet.<\/p>\n
\nbut the clock circling on the wall.
\nShe\u2019s smiling at clocks now,
\npointing when we say \u201cTick Tock.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nonly what she knows in the cries
\nit kills us not to answer
\nas she struggles toward her morning sleep.<\/p>\n