I Have to Go Home Again

Those tall trees along Macarthur, they must have some part

in the knowing of your hometown’s sorrowful grace

Must work for the mayor of the real town

which is a small empty meeting place.

            Must see the woman waiting

by the ER doors, with an All My Children

300 piece puzzle for the crying guest she’s left there.

You decide they must still know you, too, after all this time, the trees

with their long knots along the trunk

like stubborn umbilical, or unused swimming pools filled with clay, or

would-be nests, not deep enough for the small mother bird.

The nurses smoking in the clinic parking lot,

The nurses do not parallel you   who glare
as you walk to buy a sandwich across the clinic for your father

losing his body now by the hour    His false tooth at home on the bedside table

But here’s his yellow legal pad, with notes on his wasting:     Aug 1-8, no improvement
                        What a gal, what a gal   

He chooses to adorn his daughter sitting there

instead of darkly draw down and watch the television’s curd

But when I looked hard

at him because I didn’t know when it would be,

after kissing him on the mouth, I saw the one face

The face God protects beneath the growing worry of the flesh

And it seemed to shine like water near the highway to our old house

rimmed by sunflowers, then you see beyond this pond

the collapsed barn    blackened       almost graceful like a dancer fainting

slung from its cheerful spine years ago                          

    But it won’t fully leave us yet     

         nobody comes to vanquish it

Surrendered barn

     a few paces from a round white one, drenched in cold, pink sun

Surrendered barn

It could be the only one in all of Illinois