Cedar Chest, for Frank Raymond The cedar chest Granddaddy made Four months before he died Sits in his workshop Gathering dust Waiting for me to bring it home But there’s not enough room in my house Or my life Not yet For a reminder of what I lost when a broken vessel took him out of reach It’s too soon for the absence of tears when I think of the smooth wood Sanded, outside and in, By hands rough from years at the lumber yard Time has not taken me far enough from January That I can bear the smell of cedar and varnish Or flannel shirts and aftershave So for now the chest sits And patiently waits For me to bring it home And fill it with as much love As he put into it
I Leave Doors Open I leave doors open on the off chance that opportunity wants to come in without knocking I leave windows up for fairies and hope and desperation I leave the flue open for obvious reasons But drawers must be closed for order for appearances to keep the secrets in and eyes out
Cicadas Cicada screams saw into the night thunder rumbles and rumbles across a gray green black sky then an eerie silence since they know what is coming and when it is safe that same quiet after the call driving to the ER knowing I’ll be met with the howl and crackling of ozone as my child’s mind veers off course battered by wind and stinging rain