Fan

My Daddy built a box fan
That sat in the window
On one side of the house,
Pulled air across our sweaty bodies
Through open bedroom windows.
We went to bed without it, once,
But the air was heavy, moist,
And sweat glistened on necks,
Knees, elbows,
And refused to leave.
Stale, it sank into the sheets.
Twisting and turning, we sought
The one cool place to put a foot.
Then Daddy turned the fan on,
And we listened to the crickets
Sing us to sleep.

Rebecca Burke Allison



Poetry by Becca Allison
Read 861 times
Written on 2008-08-05 at 05:08

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Raven Nero Michaels
I never knew my birth father, or my first adoption farther, but my second adoption farther was amazing. This poem makes me think of him and how helpful and great he was when I lived him. Another great write, and another great read. Keep 'em coming :D
2008-08-05