Words Never Found the Way

 That February morning snowed like never before.
 In his worn-out Soviet car, my father drove me to the train station.
 Its four AM. It’s dark and bitter cold. 
 We made a stop at a gas station.
 There is no heating in the auto
 I hugged my blessing sleeping on my lap,
 listening to shortwave radio 
 with frequencies that overlapped. 
 The smell of stale cigarette aroused familiar senses
 Awoken bitter memory that flashed in front of me one by one.
 Like video clips with magnifying lenses.
 Somewhere in between the memory scenes
 I drifted into reverie.
 Cold breezed in through my old jeans.
 Snow was falling heavily. 
 I glanced at the worrisome face of my father
 He gently smiled without saying a word.
 He was a kind man and didn’t bother
 Expressing emotions he considered absurd.
 That February morning when I hugged him goodbye
 He kissed my baby holding on to my side.
 That February morning train rushed me away
 Words that I loved him never found the way.


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