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Dear Steve and Madalyn,

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.

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t
Written by
tommy-n
American
Published
Feb 22, 2011
Lines·Words
29·208
Notes

Written 2011 during the MFA program at Columbia College Chicago

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