STANZAS FOR HOME
wiped flour and grounds off the counter.
You've scrubbed our mugs for morning.
A banana darkens the freezer.
Those spices we'll never use all up.
On tile I rest forehead, tweak knobs.
Lather, bath, stare off through wall
and beyond our sky
before I'm caught
by your face
framed by the end of the curtain.
I nearly slip and push down the stop
so water makes to fill the tub.
keep the dead in our living room—
the women and men of letters,
canons, and my dear brother
in a miniature urn on my desk. There
must be some bone chunks in there.
They make the rattle in the soft ash
I shake right this moment
in the black on this natural page.
father calls the inside of a cashew
nut-meat, and says, every time,
could you hand me the thingy—
and everyone just knows
exactly what he means.
the bottle from the freezer,
pour two-fingers, pinky and index.
Crack the tray to free the cubes.