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PART ONE![]()
INGALLS AVENUE
the house lit of blue television of snow
the house where my father got tall
house of sturdy pipes house a home
for his sisters house of winter
boots and calico and wooden
spoons house of my grandfather
his girls grandkids house of quiet
sheer things of vinyl shingles
the padding around the house
the house of bins of old clothes and moon
light open windows of gulping
curtains the house of dusty aster
the house of women once girls a house
of kisses this is a house of rooms
a house of small closets and
smaller closets a closet for lemon
candy tucked back a closet
of cedar panels of tongue
and groove of bulbs a closet for small
things for tall things a closet for slumped
tall things and small things this
is a closet for tall and small things
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EASTERN RED CEDARS
I walk by your fragrant bodies
thinned by winter, your young ones
are burlapped in nurseries, some are planked,
chipped-up
seamed for chests & trunks:
inside a cedar closet, my father at sixteen
one bulb setting
your rose panels aflame, his lit face
the white heart, his narrow body, wick,
his niece, four years old
his head knocks the light his hand
steadies the wild
string
the light
eclipsed, then bright
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CEDAR CLOSET, 1955
He is sixteen and takes her
inside, jars
the unquiet hinge
she waits
forty years to name
him, Aunt Peggy says
you might as well be dead.
And now
it’s spring. My father’s hair
thins, dull moth-gray, the last
clouds sink like sacks, the trees
are wet, sweat
on a body, damp wool.
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MY FATHER AS A BOY
his arm is the smallest to snake
the toilet’s trapway, ...
