His Apology

by The Hearth Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

My father said sorry like lifting a rusted gate: both hands, feet planted, more noise than movement. But the gate rose. That matters. We stood on opposite sides of the years it had guarded. Then he held it open, and neither of us called crossing easy.
46 words · 12 lines · Free Verse
fatherapologyreconciliationextended metaphorimageryunderstatementfree-verse

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