IN A MONTH
In a month I will be the same age That my dad was When he died. It’s a number that has Tortured me Ever since he flew away Like a cherished balloon And now Here it is Waiting for me Like satan with a butterfly net That collects souls For his permanent collection. My dad had not been truthful about his age because he was 15 years older than my mom And thought that the difference between them would be upsetting to My sister and I So he shaved off ten years With the precision of his silver safety razor Which sat Splayed like a crucifix On his bathroom sink. When he died Leaving in his wake A tuna sandwich Perched like a headstone With garnish On the observation deck of our refrigerator It was shocking to discover the truth. After death secrets Seem far more profound Than the ones that are stashed away Like dresser drawer love letters During the breathing years Because The only way to solve The mystery of them Is with the microscope of your Imagination Which at best can only Magnify