I.

MORNING UNFURLED LIKE A FLOWER

BEHIND THE BACK, HUNCHED OVER

MY FATHER’S WORKBENCH.

II.

DAD’S HANDS DANCED AROUND

THE STEM LIKE A MAYPOLE,

SOMETHING IMPERFECT

NOW BEAUTIFUL.

III.

I FORGOT QUITE WHEN, BUT ONE DAY

DAD’S BOOTS CAME FLYING OFF AND

THEY PUT HIM IN AN EGG CARTON.

IV.

I FIND MYSELF STANDING,

LOOKING AT MY CHILD’S ARM ON THE

WORKBENCH, CLEAVED.

V.

MY EYES REFLECTED THE STARRY

MIDNIGHT SKY, AND I ASKED IT:

MY FATHER IS A FLORIST

WHAT WILL I BE?