his daughter

classic black dress,
open toe shoes with pointy heels sinking into dirt
I ask for a shovel and join my brothers
one, two, at least three full, thrown into the open grave

I am his daughter, what else would I do.

chainsaw spitting chips everywhere
dead trees taken apart piece by piece
I grab chunks larger than I should carry,
I am his daughter

bouncing along on behind a baler
my brothers and I take turns, 10 cents a bale
bend knees, lift, turn and throw
I am his daughter...

I wanted to spend more time with him
I wanted to build something with him
I would walk the streets of San Francisco
and breathe deeply at the smell of wood or fresh cut grass.
It reminded me of him.
I had not longed for home like this in a long time
A short time later he died

... pull up beside the pump
in winter storms and warm summer days
I reach up to see the water fill our tank
I am his daughter

smells of cut wood and drying glue
a skeleton of a desk, waiting for its skin
dinner is ready, but he needs to finish clamping one more piece
I am his daughter

this is how you turn it on
this is how you shift gears
if you forget to drop the blade you won't be cutting grass
I am his daughter

he comes to me, but I am dreaming
it is after his stroke, after his death
but he talks and stands with me
I am his daughter