it’s always funny
the things that you
end up remembering
about someone

like that he used
irish spring soap
except, no he didn’t
i used irish spring

and so does my grandfather
which i know because
he’s the one that gave
me the soap when mine
ran out

i know where that soap is
upstairs in a cabinet
lined up at least three across
and four deep

went looking for the hair-dryer
so i could more quickly finish
coating a used canvas in alternating
layers of black and white paint
and got lost in the smell
of irish spring soap

and that made me think of
my father for some inexplicable reason
he never used irish spring soap
but he did use flower scented perfume
and those scents are arguably close

and i wondered if i was looking
for something in that cupboard
that it couldn’t offer me

and i wore these two
beat-to-**** leather jackets
that my father gave me
from middle school to high school
along with a sweater that
clung to how he smelled
even after i’d washed it

i got rid of those two jackets
and the sweater
earlier this year
realized that looking at them
only made me sad
and maybe also a little angry

i kept that pocketknife
he gave me, though
and a stuffed bunny rabbit
and i wonder why

there is a practicality
in keeping the pocketknife
and maybe a certain kind of
sentimentality in the bunny

but who am i to say, really
why i kept these two things
and not the leather jackets
and sweater

maybe i am looking for something
that none of these objects can
offer me

maybe they remind me
of my father
in that he has nothing to offer me

and even if he did
i wouldn’t pick up the phone