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Father of Daughters


I always figured I'd be the father
of daughters the way a zebra imagines

he must one day be a meal
of pulpy purple meat, ribcage

picked clean, and so prepares himself
on the great, grassy plains

where rubber-necked vultures
practice disinterest, and lions wait

for a break in formation,
though most days sink into pink

horizons, and are warm and fine
but for the priming of his heart. I always

figured I'd be the father of daughters,
and now that I am, I am torn apart.


Jared Harél

Arts & Letters

Spring 2017


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