One day
you forget the locker combination
you've used for the last five years.
You try hundreds of numbers
and then give up
because you have forgotten
what you are looking for.
When you remember
you go back.
The locker doors swing open
and five years of drawings spill out.
The one you wanted
is the only one
not there.
When I was a baby, my mom tells me
it was him who walked my small sobbing body around
the house at two am.
He's always done the dishes at night and
he coached my p.e. class in pre-school. He doesn't talk much, but
last winter when I came home the house was warm and
glowing, and very clean, which is not usually the case.
He was there waiting for me, in the threadbare grey shirt
he's always worn to bed.
He gave me a kiss on the cheek,
kind of discreet, and he smelled like soap.
