My father gave himself a hernia
after three years of climbing
through the trunk of his ’82 Golf
when the doors stopped opening.

I remember eating donut holes,
watching him wiggle over the seats
from the kitchen window
every morning.

Once, during an especially intense
summer struggle,
he forgot his briefcase
in the driveway.

I don’t remember if that day
was the fateful day.
I don’t remember the surgery,
or him eating ice chips on the recliner.

But I remember that morning,
the briefcase,
running outside, trying
to wave him down.

He was already gone,
slicing through the morning,
and when I picked up the case,
I dropped it, surprised

at how hot it was, the metal
already catching so much sun.

Photo By: Kelly B.