June, Texas, 1993

My father kneels on the St. Augustine,
hands braiding in green and white repair of a torn lawn chair.
His fingers thick, right thumbnail puddled with a blue bruise.
Head tilted, his eyes focus on this morning’s work.
A wasp swings its glassy wings beneath the eave
to daub more mud on the coned dome it fashions
which we do not destroy. Its brown husk will remain,
dry and solid, long after my father’s return to clay.
And still he kneels, fearless, and weaves.

Previously published in Connotation Press.

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JP Reese has fiction, poetry, and CNF published or forthcoming in many print and online journals. Reese edits poems for Connotation Press and THIS Literary Magazine, and her first chapbook, Final Notes, was published in February 2012. Read her published work at jpreesetoo.wordpress.com. JP’s “Put Down Your Camera and Love Me”“Ophelia” and “Happy Hour” are also in Reprint.

Object(s) to bring back to life: “My father (the original Mad Man) telling one of his hilarious shaggy dog stories.”

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