Gift

 

Gift

In my head
I hold a mental map
of all the pipes beneath these streets
because I laid them there;

and in my fingers, spark
of all the wires
on those poles
because I strung them there;

and in my muscle,
lift of lumber — stud, joist, rafter
ever after because
I nailed them there.

Child, I built your bone,
your vessel, your nerve.
Now dance, now play.
Now taste your father’s kiss.

…..

First published in Visitant —thank you editor Andrea Janda
Photos from Pixabay