Every day is Father’s Day
What’s the cost
of the salve
to stop
the ache
every conversation
a remembering
your remaining
physical presence
reflected in
my mirror
What’s the cost
of the salve
to stop
the ache
every conversation
a remembering
your remaining
physical presence
reflected in
my mirror
hatchet back these hatchback days,
vined and clotted up with vetch.
crop down these crop-up weeds,
these sorrels, these torrid-rain-soaked greens.
my car is black and scarred,
and my back is wracked too far
from sitting on my ass all day.
but
the primroses are pink now, and the coneflowers are calling me
out past the clover,
‘see something’ for once
from behind that seat, behind that steering seal.
the moons swollen
in this torrent
and we are weary
our bones soaked
souls waterlogged
everything is heavier
and they’re all leaving
making it even worse
My girlfriend shows me the Little Mermaid
tennis shoes on Etsy
and my heart aches.
The type of thing I could never wear in public.
Only in private.
At friends’ houses,
Pride festivals,
certain conferences,
safe spaces.
Like nail polish,
they’re such a harmless thing
that brings so much joy.
I hate my tiny world so much.
In my next life, I want to be
a genetic girl.
My bucket list for her is becoming rather long.
And so the cycle goes.
Is anyone’s life one’s own?
A truck heavy with coal,
Struggles up the incline.
Left turn signal blinks,
Says, “It’s safe to pass.”
Elk crossing, fallen rocks,
ATV on the highway.
No four-lane road,
Comes in or out.
Even in a town
Called Lynch,
Everything is equal
Down in the mines.
It’s almost over.
Wings wake me
on the side porch
out at mom and dad’s.
I can see it coming.
Sipping coffee
escaping the Darth Vader
sounds of the machine
helping him to breathe.
He is my father.
Last farm on this road,
the ends of my earth.
Swallows swoop
over the pond
and life goes on
but how?
stomach hurts, body’s tired
