As children, do we realize what a father does? I certainly didn’t; he worked so hard but I never saw. It was a seed, just a simple seed, which he planted, hoping it would take root. He knew in his heart that it was what I needed, a tree to give comfort in this land of snow; even if I didn’t know. And so he planted this seed, and tirelessly cared for it, but the seed would never take hold. He would water it each day, but the seed needed something more. So next he tried to fertilize it, sow it with dung; for a seed needs healthy soil. But s**t only gets you so far. Perhaps it was just that a seed couldn’t grow here, out on the tundra. Few things will after all; only the Forget-Me-Nots which bloomed for a few weeks and then were forgotten. It is hard to remember such a thing in perpetual night; perpetual cold. Maybe that is why he wanted a tree?
Everyone called him mad, especially I, what sane man would try and grow something in this tundra? He didn’t even know what the seed was, it had been planted so many years ago, surely it was dead. But my father was stubborn, and refused to listen. And quietly he would tend to the seed, urging it to grow. But even stubbornness has its limits, and our confidence can break no matter how strong. And so one day, my Father couldn’t take it any more. The Scorn? The Frustration? No Fulfillment? I will never know. And so he took his life, took it while sitting next to that even more stubborn seed.
I found him like that, hunched over that spot he had guarded all these years, never leaving and never watching me, only watching the ground as if it was all that matters. His blood had soaked into the soil, and a strange look of shock within his eyes; as if not understanding why? But stranger still was the smile, a smile which had crept across his face, and still held even after his life had spilled out. I sat there for days, confused what that smile might mean. I sat there until his body began to rot, and even after his flesh was gone, I still felt that smile. And looking down, I understood. The seed had finally pierced the ground, against all odds.
And so I still visit that spot, a large tree growing where no trees can, and yet it seems as though my father’s stubbornness persists. Because unlike those flowers, this tree is the one thing I cannot forget, no matter how frigid the winter. I don’t know what he expected, or why he could smile, I may not forget, but I no longer smile; I have lost him. He may have never been there for me, but he was still a father; no matter how stubborn, a tree will never be the same.
"But s**t only gets you so far." I'll substitute the word 's**t' with something else. It broke the mood for me. But that's just my preference.
Having read your longer poems where you wrote with ease, grace, and freedom, I sense the struggle in this limited one. I think you are bursting out to elaborate and to exceed in words. But that's just how I feel.
Still, you did well, Nusquam. You showed consistency in the mode of language used. Even the speaker's thoughts are well-aligned. I like how distant he seemed, how mysterious, how perceptive. The structure is excellent and the theme, as usual, is unique. (I never know what to expect in your next stories.)
This left me with a brush of sadness. And hope. Unlike your previous poems which stimulated my intellect, this piece stirred something in my soul.
This is so tragic and beautiful. The flow of the sentences almost made this piece feel like a poem. The allegory is amazing. I find it quite amazing how plants can be used as metaphors for so much. You definitely exploited that privilege well here. Correct me if I'm wrong, but is the stubbornness actually representing persistent love? Anyway, it's a great piece.
"But s**t only gets you so far." I'll substitute the word 's**t' with something else. It broke the mood for me. But that's just my preference.
Having read your longer poems where you wrote with ease, grace, and freedom, I sense the struggle in this limited one. I think you are bursting out to elaborate and to exceed in words. But that's just how I feel.
Still, you did well, Nusquam. You showed consistency in the mode of language used. Even the speaker's thoughts are well-aligned. I like how distant he seemed, how mysterious, how perceptive. The structure is excellent and the theme, as usual, is unique. (I never know what to expect in your next stories.)
This left me with a brush of sadness. And hope. Unlike your previous poems which stimulated my intellect, this piece stirred something in my soul.
I find this very well-written and quite interesting. I can see a bit of my own father in it, as well as others, myself included. I spent some time on Adak Island, far out in the Bering Sea. No trees grew there, except for the half dozen scrawny little things the Navy had planted. Barely could they exist in that cold, windy place and probably wouldn't have if not for being constantly nurtured. Jokingly, they were called "Adak National Forest". Indeed, trees won't grow on the tundra--not without a lot of help.
wow...this actually really moved me to tears...that doesn't happen very often! To me that is a sign of a superb piece of writing...it stirred up many emotions. Sad yes, but I love it :) x
This is excellent; the quality of the story is amazing. I really like the dynamic of the father and the son never quite seeing eye to eye, and now that opportunity is lost forever. You do a very good job of pulling at the heart strings of the reader, coaxing them to hope that the tree will grow and the father's gift will be complete for the son. But you also keenly rip that away, leaving the son alone to ponder the big questions in life, trying to figure out it meant to be a father. It's refreshing to not have him find the answers; it leaves the reader with a sense of curiosity about the future and whether the father's gesture will ever be understood by the son.
This is a great piece, especially since you had to step outside of your comfort zone to write something shorter than you normally would. Keep up the good work!
What a intriguingly dark tale. It's not something you have read in every day. Like poetry it has a deep meaning. It reminds me that everyone of us has limits despite our highest perseverance... Interesting tale!
****I have disabled RRs, since I just don't have the time and energy to continue returning every review. I have enough on my plate without nagging feelings of obligation; so please, do NOT review me .. more..