Crossings

My brother and I are packing for a trip.

My father stands in the doorway.

…

On that gray day, you chopped the Steinway piano with an axe.

Surrounded by yellow and red leaves on the hard earth,

…

Today I saw a father and son stepping onto the crosswalk.

I braked and watched them pass. Son on father’s shoulders,

…

On our way to the dance, we made a fire under the bridge.

Snow fell heavily outside our place near the train tracks.

…

My only memory of you—

in the dark hallway of your Boston home,

…

When Mom and I arrived, you hid the donut behind the picture.

You sat in the sunny kitchen, embarrassed you’d been caught with a sweet.

…

You sit in the corner, oblivious to the old teacher watching.

Too busy evading the eyes of “cool kids,” who gawk and giggle.

…

Colleagues ask for my criteria grading English papers.

Family asks me meanings of mystifying words.

…

During class

Mary complained,

…

Lions prowl the streets of Johannesburg,

a sleuth of bears rise on hind legs in Yosemite,

…

One day there is no news.

The anchors stare at empty teleprompters.

…

I’m no longer desired.

I was once called handsome

…

When we were children,

we knelt after Communion

…

The twenty-something blonde offered

to lift my suitcase to the overhead compartment.

…

I was twelve.

You were thirty-four,

…

I imagine you looking at the robins’ nest

in the maple outside your bedroom window.

…

I miss the avocado-green rotary phone

and its coiled cord,

…

The old man on the dock—

weathered face,

…

The phone's ring slices the dark.

His wife, voice flat: "It's for you."

…

You know the meeting

when a question asked

…

“Do you have the yellow teapot?” my mother asked.

“Beth told me I promised it to you long ago.”

…

I’d like to be

the Wife of Bath’s scarlet stockings

…

Too old to put her shoes on,

she watched me slip her feet

…

She asks me to put Bacitracin on her heel.

“Do you see a small cut?”

…

That fall day, we raked leaves behind the shed.

Smell of earth and wet decay rose in cold air.

…

In the pew by the stained glass

of Veronica wiping the face of Jesus,

…

Each morning, I injected insulin into my dog,

made sure she had water.

…

My mother asks if I’m happy. I hesitate,

then lie: “All is good.”

…