A Father’s War

Here in this deep chill, a dear friend came over with dinner from my favorite Italian place.  Because I wanted to be served but did not want to go out.  Because I wanted him to write.  Some people play scrabble or watch movies with their friends, some people make their friends write after dinner.  Well, maybe not some people.  Maybe just me.  Though you didn’t bring me dinner, you’re still always welcome to write with me through the miracles of modern technology.

I received a link to a poem last week, and have used it as a prompt a couple of times since, with really great–and varied–results.  It’s beautiful and incredibly potent, possibly because of the clarity of the images used.  So listen to Sleeping by Andrea Gibson.

And then complete these phrases with metaphors or similes (change the tense if necessary) and see where they take you:

My father’s war was

My father’s tears are

My father’s voice is

My father’s hands are

My father’s bounty is

My father’s mother is

My father’s son is

My father’s daughter is