my papaw
i know him through gestures guesses the aftermath of breakfast
cleaning plates
ice cold fruit
fishing lines brown water
his mysterious desk and a pen
which drained ink off bathing suits
naked ladies appeared
when you held it upside down
an eagle tattoo on his arm and a closet
too small to hold any decent man’s belongings
jammed full of his
a taste of peanut butter
It was a poor choice
to go that way.
Make better choice next time.
I remember holding stones
Crying dirt as red as tears
Laughing lives as dear as worlds
Baby you can cry after everyone’s gone home
I remember holding stones
Loving lives as dear as worlds
Crying dirt as gray as pain
Baby you can cry after everyone’s gone home
She had swirled in a dish by the sink
bathroom soaps shaped like roses.
Lines of dirt where people been washing they’re hands over and over, trying to stay clean.
So many years, so many soaps.
After she died and he had the house all to himself, the soaps were gone.
Replaced
with one old bar of soap.
Where did her soaps go with her dirt
in the etches of their petals?
Soap roses and plastic swans, plastic swans with bubble bath. Important.
Pale Purple, Pink and Lemon plastic swans
now sitting empty on the edge of the porcelain bathtub.
desire
to eschew
myself
i
did leap from my slim perch away from me
forlorn from past love still to mourn
reluctant
in sanctuary
i fret some now, but do not mourn
not what i was before
and that red moment
clipped from view
so hid away
now shared with you
the hour of my discontent
at missing marks
and silly things
that only photos
know