Dad Built Houses

No matter how much drywall and plaster
You slathered over those concrete blocks,
The beer cans you dropped down into them
Would still stink and rattle.

Like old bones, like skulls,
They sit, invisible reminders,
To no one but me, the child who watched,
Until the earth quakes,
Reveals them and you.

I saw a photograph of us:
I was at the snaggle-toothed age,
You still loved me then–
No poisonous wall between us.

Soon enough the icy Florida sun
Swept over your smile,
Snapped the branch beneath us:
We tumbled into confusion.

Forever after, we orbited that sun,
That poisonous, chilling sun,
You always on the far side,
Me always running after.

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About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
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