Total Pageviews

March 15, 2011

Remembering Loss



THE MEMORY OF LOSS

by
Matthew Ivan Cherry

There are a few
possessions
that to a boy
encapsulate
his father in the tight nugget of his
small mind and burgeoning sense of potential:

a watch and wallet,
tie tacs and cuff links,
money clips and a big set of keys
that unlock
cars, and conference rooms
and possibilities;
that open the world
and close up shops.

I obtained these objects only after
I lost my father. 
He too left us with
a key to his coffin.

I keep wondering how long it will take
to lose the pain,
but like my keys
I go searching for it
under every feather depleted pillow,
behind every flimsy door,
in every nook and cranny
that my fanny
ever sat in,
in my saggy drawers
next to my CK socks
and the drawers by my bed
where houses
coins and pill bottles,
unfinished sketches and half-written poems,
some unread magazines
and a half-box of condoms next to a bottle of KY.
These serve as a remembrance
that I too am destined
to be untapped, unused,
half empty and unfulfilled
with much more life
settling to my reserves
and my spare tires
and my “maybe tomorrows”.

BUT…

When I do find them
hanging on the key rack next to the fridge,
I grab ‘em
and wave them
up
in the air
triumphantly
like they are
da  gaddamned goldn ticket
and with a jingle
I insert my
finger
into the hoop that keeps
them organized by size
and color and
duty.

I give them a twirl
looping my fingers and catching them
like a cowboy
giving the index a blow.

With a tight grip
I cram them
down
my pocket
right under my hip
and hernia
scar just above my dick
(Dad’s DNA demonstrata.)

I pull
my hand out
and pat my pocket
…the metal protrudes
pressing
and
perturbing
and
reminding me
that once again…
I’ve found it!

…the memory of loss. 
Post a Comment