Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2011
I still haven’t bought gloves,
             though I had steel-toe boots for awhile.
Callouses are waiting for you to lay hands bare
to everything you own. You can go years without feeling
the bottom of your own table.

I moved Dad into his new house.
This brings the total to 18 moves in 10
years. Mostly in 20 hour windows.
You were around
for 7 or 8 of them

I read once that most of dust is actually stardust
from micro-meteorites. It’s not true.
It is actually dead pieces of you.
I’ve inhaled more of us than anyone.

Item highlights:

250 lb. End table with hidden safe inside
    Combination: unknown
Garbage bag with mom’s clothes
     and one Phillips-head screwdiver
Four landline phones tangled
    with their cords in a laundry hamper
Seven phonebooks in a neat cardboard box

Madalyn: Dad still has the small wooden sign you made him
                     the one that says “Dad’s Workshop” in blue glitter-paint.

Steve:        Dad has recently bought a toaster oven, and he loves it
                     as much as you love yours. He gave me the same speech
                     about the difference in the taste of hot-dogs.

You are both still in the pictures at his house. It startles
me when your faces appear on the screensaver.
Written 2011 during the MFA program at Columbia College Chicago
Written by
Tommy N
783
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems