Monday, April 28, 2014

theft

amid the faintly glowing
frescoes and heavy notes
lingering in the organ pipes
we sat, unsure where
to look or place our hands
welcoming, an hour of
platitudes later, the stuffy interior
of the ancient family Valiant   

it's a gift to chose what's hard
i say, as we pull from the lot
arm outstretched through the
passenger window, waving at someone
who might be someone
i know or knew or looks it. i'd been
telling the twins nothing is worth more
than what's made with what's left,
and anything can be true
if you tell it enough.

until i spoke, we held the silence
like a sheet pulled from the line
waiting to see who led the folding
of sun-warmed cotton.
now in the shade of the carport
we decant from the two-tone car,
bare thighs carefully peeled from
the sticky upholstery.
in the unseen world, invisible hands
tie a black ribbon to a kite tail
of colourful bows marking every
other day lived up to today.

including one last week
we can't turn back to and unhear
how a knife tip found its way
to the bottom of Uncle Jack's heart
where everything that mattered was kept.
who's to know what was taken apart
from his life; what remained
in the looted wallet were a few coins,
a receipt from the hardware store
and a list that included
reasons for buying a new straw hat.

there's no better reason for grief
when that list includes
last hat until i die.



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