sometimes
i look at photographs
of my
grapes of wrath worthy
destitute
sunday best ragged
depression sepia
tobacco creased
great-grandparents
and think
i can’t believe these people
fucked each other
sometimes
i look at photographs
of my
grapes of wrath worthy
destitute
sunday best ragged
depression sepia
tobacco creased
great-grandparents
and think
i can’t believe these people
fucked each other
Gregor Mendel
was a Moravian scientist
and Augustinian friar,
who in the mid 1850’s,
became the father
of genetics
and heredity,
through his experiments
with plants bearing peas.
My playful mind envisions him
amongst tender blossoms
applying color and size,
dominance and hybridization,
to the Punnett square
within his thoughts.
Given over to whimsy,
I concoct a notion
of the genius
preparing for Easter feast,
crossbreeding
hummingbirds
with marshmallows
to provide God,
Cherubim,
and Seraphim
little angel shaped Peeps.
there is an old reel to reel memory
burned onto my psyche’s screen
of my fallen god
the father
throwing a planet sized
console television set out the front door
off the porch
and into the yard
in a fit of rage
eventually replaced by a larger zenith console tv
to erase the damage done
the scene horrified me for years
as his vengeance that night
could not be contained
by the red brick of the house
but as i bashed a $3oo cell phone
with a hammer
into the floor of a deserving verizon store
a warming contentment wrapped it’s arms around me
i realized i truly am my father’s daughter
and i loved him all the more for
the genetic ability
to shatter minds and electronics
a bakolite phone from the 40’s
the cherry telephone stand and cedar chest grandaddy made
a few quilts
her meerschaum letter opener
a grandiose turkey plate
christmas ornaments
a cake pan
the lace curtain revealing a doe she hung on the kitchen door window
her wallet
with drivers license
a lipstick
her bad hip
delicate ankles
engagement ring
these are all the things i have of hers
eight years gone now
but
the older i get
the more i listen
to her ghost