“Darling,” by Kathy Fagan
You were just that
gone, the taper of your
coat whistling louder than
fish from my youth—wriggling
past worms and bubblegum,
cause Wrigleys always works
better than Doublemint. Your
loaf to wood thrashed to me like
my father, his ear pierced in
rust. His tetnis almost stung more
than you, his net wider and
better arched. When I dove
into the wake of another
putterboat, eyes and toes
spread, my father’s voice as
muddled as concertos, I
saw the infinity of my craft.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment