By Brienne Daugherty

I remember my father’s grin,
as he entered the kitchen
smelling funky
hundred-year-old sweatband ringing his head.

He spread his arms 
delicately filling the counter
with giant zucchini. 

My ears recall the deep timbre
of watermelon meat.
The extra-large ladies 
given a gentle slap of appreciation.

Attagirl, keep growing. 

I don’t remember his advice
about which flowers to plant
to prevent insect infestation.

I would have listened harder
to the version of him that existed
before he was infested. 
He grew things then;
potatoes, a family.

Back before I understood that
holding open doors 
and pulling out seats aren’t enough.

Back before I asked him
what his locker room talk sounded like. 

Back before I understood 
that the danger an orange agent poses
isn’t exclusive to Vietnam. 
Back when I could still imagine him
teaching my boys to be men 
who grow things.
Would we be sharing slices of watermelon 
at the kitchen table
instead of perfunctory updates by phone?

Would we be discussing
the difficulties of thriving 
in harsh conditions? 

Conversation so engrossing
we couldn’t hear the TV in the other room
over the din. 

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About the Author:

Brienne Daugherty received her B.A. in English literature from Ohio Dominican University. Her goal is to craft stories that either heal or traumatize the reader. She self-published her first novel, a body-horror titled Fat Phobia, in 2023. Her flash fiction piece “Daisy” was published in the 2024 Ohio Writers’ Anthology, and her flash fiction piece Snake for Sale – Make Offer was recently nominated for the Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers. She lives in rural Ohio with her husband, two kiddos, and three grumpy cats.