Dad - Molly Blumhoefer

lost in a corner of the yard

I grow close to what you could have been

a mountain

discarded tires, splintered lumber, chicken wire, a green velvet couch,

broken toys, smooth colored glass, crates, and other alleyway treasures

fishing lures sprinkled about, ornaments of imagined summers

your prosthetic leg hung at the top like a star on a tree

Then

I grow closer to what you were

half-grown tomatoes and empty beer cans next to the fence

a grill covered in residue from burnt hamburgers

a bare window through which I watch you shoot at screaming crows

but only shattering limbs

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Molly Blumhoefer grew up in Minneapolis. She currently lives with her husband in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She writes poetry, creative non-fiction, and fiction. Her nonfiction has been published in Adelaide Literary Magazine.