Archaic Rayon Kamehameha
for my dad and Rilke
Blue eyes like dusty Santa Rosa plums,
And his fabulous head
In Santa Rosa
I put a shirt on that remembered torso
And there’s no place it does not see me
From across the room — .
I’m its heiress.
He kept a Scottie dog candle, never lit.
Chenille letters he’d lettered in, restrained and shining.
Loins prudent, never shown. Almost didn’t procreate.
But once, the telltale cadence of that double bed.
At the end he told me, Change your life,
We always do what we must. And never, never . . . hesitate!