We sit in blue upholstered pews
surrounded by saints made
of glass. The sun makes
shadows through them.
shadows through them.
My father steadies himself
and stands at the opening
and stands at the opening
chords of the organ. He opens
a hymnal but upside down.
a hymnal but upside down.
The book is fat with music
and bound by thinning thread.
and bound by thinning thread.
He lip-synchs until he sees
his mistake and can turn it
his mistake and can turn it
right side up. He catches
the tail of the next quarter note,
the tail of the next quarter note,
but I know his hearing aids
have gone bad. His words
have gone bad. His words
spill out, slippery marbles.
His eyes wander and make contact
His eyes wander and make contact
with mine. A watery look,
uncontrolled. Salve, salve, Regina.
uncontrolled. Salve, salve, Regina.
As the song ends,
he folds into the fabric seat.
he folds into the fabric seat.
After Mass, he reminds me he has
hydrangea roots and violets
hydrangea roots and violets
in a cardboard box
sitting outside the garage.
sitting outside the garage.
These are the yellow flowers, he will
add, offering the stubby shoots.
add, offering the stubby shoots.
They grow about so high.
He will pause, the clump of vital
He will pause, the clump of vital
dirt in his gloved hands.
It is so good to see you,
It is so good to see you,
he says. Remember, you can part
the bulbs and make more flowers.
the bulbs and make more flowers.
