Tag Archives: father

Knives

Posted on November 17, 2025 by John Biscello

My sister says she doesn’t have many memories from childhood. When she looks back, there’s nothing there: a blank screen. I never asked her if she saw black or white in her absence of memories. One of her … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged family, father, fragment, knives, memory, mother, Prose, sister, son, story | Leave a comment

Dinner, No Voices

Posted on November 17, 2025 by John Biscello

I waited. We waited. A storm was coming. It had to be. He had returned from rehab several days earlier, after having been gone for two months. My father had always born pouchy bags under his eyes, but there, … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged dinner, Drama, family, father, fragment, mother, Prose, rehab, silence, son, story | Leave a comment

Slight

Posted on November 12, 2025 by John Biscello

A young woman came to see me yesterday. I know it’s my daughter, yet something stops the word daughter from coming out of my mouth, any of my mouths. There is word-daughter and there is daughter-daughter and word-daughter is … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged archive, daughter, father, fiction, fragment, history, in progress, memory, pieces, story, storytelling | Leave a comment

Beket

Posted on September 5, 2025 by John Biscello

My name is Beket. That’s my first name, and my last. My mother was going to name me Becky, after some character in a novel she loved, but when she saw how silent I was as a baby (she said … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged daughter, family, father, fiction, mother, name, reality, show, silence, story, voices, whatever, writer, writing | Leave a comment

Memory Piece

Posted on September 4, 2025 by John Biscello

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged and so it goes, daughter, father, identity, images, memory, memory piece, Poetry, Prose, story, words | Leave a comment

Knife

Posted on September 1, 2025 by John Biscello

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged family, father, fiction, knife, memory, memory piece, mother, Prose, sister, story, violence, writing | Leave a comment

A.I.

Posted on January 10, 2024 by John Biscello

Develop an A.I. mother. Ask the A.I. mother to raise and nurture you in the way that you always imagined you should have been raised and nurtured. Discard your previous existence, the first one, and install a legend around the … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged a.i., creation, design, family, family reimagined, father, mother, musing, poem, Prose | Leave a comment

I See Myself

Posted on May 24, 2018 by John Biscello

I always saw the humanity behind his thick-lidded eyes, the small child, begging for a banquet of golden crumbs to appease the motherache churning in his heart and stomach. A thousand lions pitted against a studded chainsmoking beergutted gladiator, I … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged art, Beauty, expression, father, John Biscello, love, poem, redemption, son, soul | 3 Comments

Anne Sexton

Posted on April 9, 2018 by John Biscello

It begins with a stopwatch, and a glass of water. The stopwatch belonged to her father, or to her father’s father. The glass of water is a joke. Imagine trying to remedy all that desert within, all that scabbing red … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged anne sexton, confessional, daughter, dreams, fairy tale, father, John Biscello, Literary, poet, Poetry, portrait, sketch, suicide, woman, writer's life | 4 Comments

Gravesite

Posted on February 13, 2018 by John Biscello

My father and I visited my mother’s grave. Nothing about it felt profound or moving. It felt like a prescribed exercise in courtesy, a bland ritual. One thing that gave it a dramatic feel: it was raining. … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged anya, Brooklyn, cemetery, father, gravesite, grief, John Biscello, mother, mourning, no man's brooklyn, novel, son | Leave a comment