Smoke and Beeswax
it’s such a pale gray, the body
of a person broken down
into ash even before the cardboard box
my father smelled of smoke and
beeswax one weekend toward
the beginning of my life
I saw his head lit up like a dandelion globe
in the golden light of the day
as it died on the banks of the creek
where the water dies he was
walking in the middle of a swarming
hive I never asked him
what it was like inside the gate of
the past is made of fire
so no matter what I carry it cannot
come through with me
not even my father’s body not
even his memory
published in Meridian, Issue 47: August 2023