This is no ordinary fatique,
looking through the posts
about Fenton glass, microwave cookware
and sheets through a storm
of boxes and happy birthdays.
At the same time they were
carrying your father
from the house to the cemetery
you scalded yourself with a cup of boiling coffee.
I'd been warning you of such a mess
for a long time but you insist
on refusing condolences,
treasuring your sweet secret another day.
As you open the cash drawer/
over and over tomorrow and the next
day and the next, please
think of the pain on your knee.
Think of the time laspe world
in which we live, in which
fathers and sons try their best
to run the experiment backwards.
I think a new widow reminds me
of a bride, I think your father
scolded you at a distance
last night as you screamed out.
Life is this super collider
and as they lifted his coffin
a bit too quickly, the atoms
and molecules rearranged your DNA.
