It’s In the Little Pieces

 

I catch you in reflections–the small ones

that hint at a sense, be it smell or taste or touch

the smell of your sweat, bent over the tractor

the taste of Old Style on my small lips, just a sip

the feel of your long daddy arms twice around me

whenever I called to you

a hint of pink on a blossom falling

to the grass, your cheeks, alive

a light refracting on water, just a ripple,

your blue eyes calling to me from somewhere

I’ve vaguely dreamed about, a haven of sorts

where I was once somebody’s

my reflection as I pass by a mirror

in a blur, I see how this body came

from yours, I am your limbs,

when it’s quiet sometimes

I see all the pieces of you

you are not your grave, not those

ashes we spread on the river

you were mine once briefly

and I was yours and that

makes my heart heavy and

then light, all the

what if’s

what if you had stayed

what would you have taught me

I remember how you tried, you

cried in front of my new dad

and walked away to live in your car

and drink your drink

you tried to put us into pieces

you could hold onto

faded photos of babies

in your wallet

you fought for us in a slurred

tongue,

but for us

that was the best we’d ever get

gentle, shy, scared father

I loved you

I loved you

you’re in all these little pieces

of my life,

never absent now

as you rustle and hush through

petals at my feet.