Dad Says He Has Caught On
He dials repeatedly. Flips the phone
open and pushes names. We know
to redirect to another subject: Let’s
walk down the hall. Here are the orchids, the other
toilet. Outstretched arm: Here is the door
to the emergency garden. And like that,
we’re calm again. He puts on his green beret
to follow the distance. Sits in
smeared sun. He asks about a small town. Three times
he eats until there is nothing left:
soup, burger or brownie. There are palm trees
at your window, I say. He agrees. He lies
on his bed. On top, the hot day just
passing by. He is waiting for the messenger
which is what happens when he rises.