The Keepsake

Coming home in night
the porchlight shows the dent in the Sigma-
the Keepsake

In the silence of the house
washing the day's flour and grease from his hands
he sees his mother, many years ago -
Salt and olive oil
Bellissimo.
Then, with TV speaking, falls into the fluid world
where there is freedom without motion.

In another room two daughters sleep
the eldest is getting too big
her hair will require more care than the space allows
as body becomes asset and shame

. . . thirteen years ago, a woman screaming oblivious
him, reversing the car into a streetlight . . .

Now, he lives in the warmth of women
I will love this life when I come to it
but for now I fall to dreams
Ash to an ashtray.
I was made for this.