My Father

I take my car to the garage twice a month
With a fantastic lie about squealing and vibrations
I’m sure they’re onto me by now
Because they only charge me half for labor

Imagine my delight when that beautiful
Red check-engine light graced my dashboard,
Illuminating the cabin with a rush of love
And pain so strong it brought tears to my eyes

I always step softly into the garage
Like I’m stepping into a church or some
Other sacred place where the dead lie quietly
Though you feel as if they’re still embracing you

Dirt and sawdust are the grains of the beaches
In my father’s heaven
The sound of drills and clanking metal
Are the sounds of my childhood

I stare at the stained hands of strangers
And they are suddenly your hands
Back when you never got cold and never
Exclaimed in pain or surprise

If I close my eyes I can see the
Faded, torn flannel pattern of your soul
And smell the oil and gasoline of your skin
That filled my lungs with completion and belonging

The gruff voices I hear are yours
And suddenly I am the girl who giggled
And lunged at the wrench in your hand, not because
I wanted it, but because I knew you’d keep it from me