Sunday
Dec072014

I Imagine My Father Returns From The Dead

Martha Webster



It could happen
anyplace.  In a deli

aisle a plush theater:  that woman
Shalimarred on his arm.

Maybe his polished shoes
will shuffle backwards.

Maybe I’ll allow myself
to think I’ve known

his heart these eighteen
years.  But remembering

he never stomached
knowing mine,

I press my ear
to the clicking

tumblers
of the overdose safe,

mechanism
fast unlocking.