Keys
I have two house keys on the same ring;
look so much alike I put a dab of yellow
paint on mine. The other is to the house
I called home for 44 years.
Dad bought it because it had a barn and pasture.
We paneled the walls, got new carpet, replaced
the barn’s sagging foundations.
The house was empty after Mom died–
even though Dad was there.
After he left, emptier still.
In the end, it contained only mattresses,
a computer, a couple of old chairs, and lamps.
Everything else went to Goodwill or a friend’s church.
It has been sold for a month now–
house, barn, and 7 acres in the middle of town.
Don’t know what happened to the computer and old chairs.
Asked Dad what I should do with the key;
he never answered.
II
Took the key off today
Dad is gone, no reason to return.
I only need the key with the yellow paint.
Poetry Quarterly Jan 2014
