hold up

prop open the screen
door and hold it

with a fan whir;
                               see out,
and all the way in again
scrub the doorframe with

a secret flask your mother had spilling
floor wash of moonlight

and creeksteps, cold, don’t forget to holler
for the dogs to come in and that the frogs’ swarpin

pondside has its own song to practice in the shower;

look, the seeds already sprung them
marigold promises on the yet unsettled

dirt, mound and tamped down
by shovels and a calloused hand
splintering hammers in the rain

all over car parts with names
and reasons i don’t understand
waiting for master’s knowing