days of stone

Tag: father

  • In Fallow Fields

    In Fallow Fields

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    In my father’s field fledgling hopes are neatly hedged, sown in the soil of silent forebears. Beside a bourne, in chalk and flint, dreams are buried deep. The rasping of his shovel has slowed this season. Some furrows lie shallow, others run deeper. Through rustic panes I watch him bend, straining against the pull of…

  • The Walk

    The Walk

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    I wake a full hour early for the rare gift of a walk in the woods with my father. He is a silent giant among misty ghost gums. I tell him, Watch! See how fast I can run. He doesn’t yell when I trip and fall, but lifts me with unfamiliar, calloused hands. At the…

  • Galaxies

    Galaxies

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Catch me a star, little spaceman,he’d call, and I’d catch a breath of whiskeyand hand-rolled cigarettes, mingledwith the sweat of his shirtas I tumbled back into strong hands. My father would launch meto the ceiling and ask,How do the stars look up there?And they were bright, the stars,like his eyes far below. Brightlike the glint…