rae strozzo
1. an end2. 19753. interior5. the pond dad dug – from the spot where we fed the cat fish6. from pocket on driver’s side back door7. electric screwdriver from the pocket on the driver’s side front door8. from pocket on driver’s side back door9. the tarp strap, from under the back seat10. view of shed in fog (behind the pond house)11. pen from the pocket on the driver’s side front door12. intake form for my cousin’s dog Petey at the vet, from under the driver’s seat13. Irrigation through windshield14. unused gloves from under the drives side seat19. water bottle from underneath driver’s seat20. pecans and grocery list in my mom’s handwriting in glove compartment28. rust on the passenger side from a bag of fertilizer left in the back too long35. tractor steering wheel39.  dad’s welding helmet46. driving Beulah lane52. the boom truck – made from older model fire engine dad bought53. dad’s pocket contents and belt (on kitchen counter 1 week later)54.  Nov. 201355. 201356. view of Beulah Lane driver’s side windowgrasping at straws is easier video still 1grasping at straws is easier video still 2grasping at straws is easier video still 3grasping at straws is easier video still 4
breathing lessons
I am sitting in a car wash

wishing

for beautiful words

the sound of water

fog
and how I had forgotten it

woods
a tractor seat ‘s well worn cushion
a screwdriver
a peanut in the side pocket
receipts for welding equipment
the remnants of a good cotton season
beige hallways with no art
pocket contents
flower arrangements in three rooms

lamentations.

proofs.


I wished to write beautiful words about grief, but all I really have is the truth:

My father died on Jan 20, 2013.
I hadn’t seen him in seven years.
I missed his funeral.
And then I went home anyway.
I loved him, and he loved me.

So what do I do when someone becomes anecdotes

traces

silence?

I am taking breathing lessons.
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