gathering (a poem for my father.)

I walked a mile for a red cent and some hope.

Amid the conflicting images-

snatches of boyhood

and finding your letters at the bottom of garbage heaps

– i tried to gather some love for you.

You, who I don’t know.

Who I mirror

Who’s violence I remind them of.

I think wellness is in your shed.

Part of it, at least, can be found

in that coming together

and finding of tools- pink and blue.

And I remember being happy

on a couch, you and I


my head on your chest.

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