top of page

"Newspaper & Father’s Beard" by Amit Parmessur



“You could have spread a newspaper,” she says.

Mother, the dogs leave their fur everywhere

in the house, how can father’s white beard

falling in the yard disturb you?


Also when you groom yourself you drop talcum

powder on the floor. No one says “You could

have spread a newspaper.” Father, you are

lazy when you spread a newspaper on Sundays


but a hero when you spread a newspaper to

cut open the jackfruit, her favourite.

Today while mowing your cheeks and chin,

I see fear in your eyes—first time.


There was a time your wife feared you.

“History changes like newspaper,” grandpa jokes.

I see she aggravates your Parkinson’s and my

compliment about your perfect stubble angers you.


If you had teeth, they would grate. You smile

only when the electric shaver tickles your ear.

Next week, as promised, I will shave your white

hair and we are going to spread a newspaper,


the day’s newspaper, to remind her that she

is a drop, not any wave. I think I’m a good

son who doesn’t spread the newspaper about that

other woman. You’ve been a good father,


giving us a bit of everything. Mother is giving us

arrogance nowadays; it sticks to her like jackfruit glue.

It worries me that no newspaper reports

such news. The past has been unfair to her,


agree. The present is unfair to you, Father,

agree. The past and present have been unfair

to me, and so will the future, but how can

this disturb you both?

Commenti


bottom of page