A STONE
Soon my father
will come to visit.
He will stay two weeks,
more than I can tolerate
and less than he wants.
He expects me to wait on him,
like he always has,
fix him meals, make him coffee,
only now he is so old
that only a stone would
begrudge him
He talks to my daughters about God
when he thinks I’m not listening.
He tells them if they don’t believe
they will go to hell.
The atheist is offended. The other
prays and I wonder why.
He plays the television
so loud that I can’t think
when he could just get a
hearing aid like everyone else.
He talks often about my siblings’
childhoods. All of his stories are happy
and none have me at the core.
I become a rock and smile,
yes, weren’t those good times?
When he first arrives, he hugs me,
gives me a kiss too close to my lips,
and tells me how much he missed me.
He is grateful to be here.
We laugh every day.
Countless times I have only the love,
no shadows.
Not too distant,
his old body will fail.
Will all my love and ire
harden together in this stone,
stuck at that instant like cement?
EIGHTEEN DOLLARS
We had eighteen dollars,
my husband and me.
We had a nearly full tank
of gas and food
for a week.
We lived in a rambling
early American house
rented from the United Church of Christ.
The pastor wouldn’t live
in the neighborhood.
The second floor
had no heat.
I saw a bargain
at the import store—
a gallon of olive oil
twelve dollars.
He was flabbergasted.
Who had he married
after all?
No sense, just olive oil.
