“Friday” – Megan Denton

Maybe giddy, with the excess of bookshelves,
or firewood, it is possible to unfold forever, forgotten.
But, first, I must adjust my fragile roots: from here,
I can see the cabin, where I would hold out
a fistful of grace for you, father, an opportunity
to test the backbone. I’m bringing you a sun,
with splinters in it, from the center of my
wide-eyed choir, of yellow crayons I’ve kept
for us. I’ve gathered nearly two fists full
of forgiveness, belated; not any comfort will do.
I am bringing you the only beautiful thing
in the yard between my cabin and yours,
and I carry it like a jewel, or my favorite
sea shell, all yours, if you keep me.
And because you’re sick,
because there’s a shadow on your love,
I want to bring you something picked
by my hand, a child’s drawing of the sun.
I would still be winter, had it not been for this.

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