My father had a daughter once, and now he does not anymore. I killed her first when I began to grow, and was no longer the child he could carry on his shoulders, and I killed her again when I began to think, and was no longer the child he could overrule, and most recently I killed her when I told my father that he had never had a daughter in the first place, but he could have a son, if he was willing.
[Image Description: A orange, stone canyon peak and surrounding edge wraps around a section of blue skye. orange, stone, rock.]
Tarik Dobson’s poetry questions what love and family mean in a unknown landscape. With lush, tender, vivid language, Dobson probes the boundaries of community and exile in these three poems.
Art makes us want to be alive, but it also gives us context for what we’re experiencing right now. It reflects our world back to us. It helps us make sense of things that simply don’t make sense.