Today's poem is by Rebecca Hazelton
Recast, Again
You are your father's broad back
rewrit in small script. Your feet, like his,
grasp the soil, confident
the planet will never spin too fast
and throw you off.I never was so sure. I spent most of my childhood watching
the clouds
revolve while I stayed still.In this way, I was always an observer. In this way,
it didn't matter
if I watched my mother crawl
the hallway's length
on her hands and knees
while my father yelledor watched my father
put his face in his hands
at my mother's dramatics
while a phone rang unanswered.Both versions were true
and neither could touch me.I do not want anything to touch you.
I want you to know
the clouds move
because of the wind, not because
the ground is shifting.It doesn't matter
whether she reached the phone
or if the phone's ringing was a detail
I added over the years.For years, I told myself if I'd just answered the phone
a voice
on the other end would have told me
how to exit this scene,but now I think I would have heard
your feet running toward me
through the wet grass.
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Copyright © 2019 Rebecca Hazelton All rights reserved
from Gloss
University of Wisconsin Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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