Here it is not like that: it’s a company of trees, and all are undoubtedly dead.
After my dad died and my mom’s worsening dementia forced her into a care facility, it fell to my sister and me to clean out their house. When we walked inside, it was like uncovering an intact archaeological site. My dad’s closet was still filled with his fleece jackets and golf shirts. Inside the pantry, opened bags of potato chips and crackers were sealed with clips. I expected my mom to walk into the kitchen, grab the half-used bottle of Windex from the shelf and clean the table.
On that last day, we read images taken
from a moving car, listening
to the artist speak of wanting that way
time stretches things out
readable in the frame
Behind me the remains
of the cinderblock tabernacle
and behind me the west-leaning house
with a red dirt floor
Discovering a new sport, learning the language of this sport and its rules, is not easy in the beginning. I have played soccer for fourteen years. I still play, but one day all of that stopped.