Every Friday night we feature a short story, essay, personal narrative,
poem, spoken word, or short film for your enjoyment.
Tonight’s poem is from Jake Sheff
Compartments were quickly being
Locked by the old man. My father –
Disintegrating in this memory
Competing with the buzz-saw and vice,
Not for pure sheen, but to illustrate
The fine-grained ineptitude
Of loss – rebukes the steak and eggs
Of bus stops in Albuquerque with a lean,
Defensive snicker, as if in truth, recalling
A chewy, parallel delight. The smell
Of sundown baking
In the aluminum siding humiliates
The past that continues wafting
Between the lifting shingles, while Dad
Repositions the floor on its peg.
Here is the birdhouse
For Daniel, the grandson I left
In Reno with the promise I’d build him
“One of those boxes to paint.”
Jake Sheff is a captain and pediatrician in the US Air Force, married to a Corri whom he produced a modern Maddie with. They, in turn, were adopted by four animals. Home is currently Southern California. Poems of Jake’s are featured or forthcoming in Marathon Literary Review, Jet Fuel Review, Foliate Oak and elsewhere. A chapbook of his was published, Looting Versailles, (Alabaster Leaves Publishing). He considers life an impossible sit-up, but plausible. Read an interview with him on Splinter Generation.