My Father’s Daughter


In the glow trapped
by the molten gold
in the glass
a faded image lights up
in dusty corners
of my mind

You
a melancholy figure
your lean fingers
wrapped lovingly
around your oblivion
the empty bottle forlorn
on the table

Now
as I thirst for solace
in the same spirit
seek similar numbness
I wonder
Am I my father’s daughter,
after all

©2017 Uma Venkatraman ~ All Rights Reserved

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