It’s Me, Dad


By Alva Holland

Dad’s listening ear is the only thing that soothes my soul. Closing my eyes, I can feel his hand on my shoulder, see the creases of his smile etched into his weather-beaten face, hear the strength of his wisdom.

My woes come spilling out like a freshly-released spring whose entrance was blocked by life’s boulders. The words come in a whooshing freedom breath – splashing intermittently, then bubbling to a surge of released angst.

A sliver of silver moonlight catches the first three letters of his name carved into the black granite. Taking a deep breath, I let him in.

Alva Holland’s stories been featured in The People’s Friend, Ellipsis Zine, Train Lit Mag, Firefly Magazine, Stories for Homes and Brilliant Flash Fiction.

8 thoughts on “It’s Me, Dad

  1. This is beautiful and makes me think of my dad who passed away last August. My parents are together again after a sixty-seven-year marriage. So, that is the blessing that balances the grieving.


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