WHEN I WOKE UP THIS MORNING I TRIPPED OVER DAD
Anna Shelton
an improvement, since for weeks I’ve been unable to sleep
with him under my pillow, elbows jutting at odd angles,
purpling feet sticking straight out the side.
I showered without him, but stumbled over him on the stairs
going to breakfast; he startled me as I stepped outside,
sat with me as I listened to birds in the garden,
interrupted my train of thought in class. At the table he blocked me,
head down on the hard wood, that final unrelenting view.
He choked me on my food at dinnertime.
When I tried to relax and lean back into an armchair
he was there behind me, making me uncomfortable.
Ever-present dad, suddenly peripheral,
my body doesn’t want to leave you behind.