Ask me

why my father held out his hands when I threw up in the

hospital hallway at age five and I will tell you there are

many unplanned ways to say I am the color of trees

and even in error the body speaks rain Ask why my

father was in such a hurry to hangup today and I will tell

you it’s better to fasten yourself to this tiny leaf of

a world than to wander avenues of stars

Remember the high oaks the sycamores and white birch

they are your loves given back to you as if you could pass

through days of sickness and walk once again

into the church of those hands

Peter Grandbois is the author of ten books, the most recent of which is half-burnt (Spuyten Duyvil, 2019). His poems, stories, and essays have appeared in over one hundred journals. His plays have been performed in St. Louis, Columbus, Los Angeles, and New York. He is the Poetry Editor for Boulevard magazine and teaches at Denison University in Ohio. You can find him at petergrandbois.com.