I wrote this poem and drew this portrait as a tribute to my dad, who died when I was 7 years old.
It’s a long time,
Fifty-one years minus 7,
For ‘dad’ to be
An abstract concept.
The one photo
Pretends, from a frame,
That we remember each other,
And it feels unnerving,
Gazes meeting in
Cognition of
Memories never
Made.
I have modelled
My own men;
Collaged works
Of art from
Movies and books,
Myths and magic.
Perfect.
And each one bears
A heart shaped
Like you,
Dad.
Sarah Drury 