Group Photo With Fishermen

it’s christmas dad lend me once more your hand to compare ourselves among the living people i ever touched only your hand was bigger if you want to we can go to the seashore hand in hand to leap wave after wave together or you can take me to the puppet theater where the orange tiger swallows pancakes while we’re clapping along with our big hands this year i didn’t grow home bread and i didn’t burn candles i simply crouched with half-opened eyes leaning against high cushions over a cross scratched with my nails on the bed sheets lying in wait fishing like you dad sometimes hours other times days go by without any catch apart from your pale and slippery smile in the last photograph dad why on earth didn’t you put aside the fishing rod