A gaffe once
when I salted my
cream of wheat. We had
a shaker for sugar
in my house and the
salt was
a natural
mistake. Papa's
summer house smelled
like screen doors
slamming and rain tipped
out of green metal porch chairs
and cool slate floors and
close maple dining-table talk
and white plates of rare tomatoes
sliced with olive oil and oregano
and strawberries and vermouth
and circlets of mesh warning the
frogs out of the drains.

Papa called me
stupid and cowed my
mother when she tried
to explain.
He wasn't an
unkind man and he'd
never said
an unkind thing
to me before.

                                                                                                     

 

 

Antiphon

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