Dad could always find a second
use for anything, especially containers

each with a unique shape / whether plastic
jars emptied of Jif peanut butter or marshmallow

Fluff or glass jars drained of their delicious
pickles / olives / mayonnaise / or blackberry

jam. He would share the jelly jars with Mother
as they were best to hold drippings. And

he never touched her Ball jars, no matter
how many times used / those were sacred

for canning. After a good rinse & wipe dry,
he would fasten the lids to exposed beams

in the basement. Before rejoining the jar, he filled
each one with whatever he had needed sorting /

storing / saving – crystal doorknobs or ceramic
drawer pulls / unnamed plastic parts left over from

some prior project. He mostly filled them with nails –
separated by purpose / by size / by material – box nails

& sinkers / ring shank & masonry / brads & duplex
heads / sizes 2d to 8d to 12d and larger (in the rope

pickle bologna jar) / made of aluminum or brass
or copper or steel / stainless for outdoor & galvanized

or plated for construction / vinyl-dipped or coated
in phosphate to make them more resilient to better

grip & hold stronger / longer. I don’t know
that he had an order / a pattern / a grand scheme

in mind / but their placement just made sense
in the end / that dark / dank cellar transformed

into a glorious night sky filled with constellations
of hooks & wires / galaxies of bolts & anchors / even

captured marbles would catch light like a shooting
star loosed across the room / reflected