parts in my hand

When you grown now

so you can hear your father.


Here he is building you a shelf.

Here he is comparing rear view mirrors

he found on eBay. Here, he has already

assessed the prices of every wind

chime in the city because on Sunday

you mentioned you're in the market for

one. Your dryer doesn't work, now

he is describing how dryers are supposed

to work. How your brakes work. How

grit works. How a man who will

never change works so

how you should work.


Here is his garage, full of honest things for sale

because he is sorry or so you will finally

leave the knock off lover behind, same thing.


We don't say it. But

when there are a lot of places to sit

I sit next to him. And when nothing

is broken I believe he believes

it's broken and he can fix it.

Here I am, nearby

holding parts in my hand for him.


Today, the sound of my

new raincoat moving

is the sound of his

raincoat moving.

When I turn I hear him

turning, his boat swelling

on the pacific, soft

as he twists

to see me.


I didn't know


if I wanted the frozen pot pie

but I knew I wanted to receive it so


I said oh that sounds good.


I can still hear him opening it