Everything is backwards in the world of rowing, they/
we love this story, it lends a modicum of superiority
Me, hitting the floor frontside up,
hard. She, all blue-eyed worry, hoping
to teach me the game.
April 2020 / after illustrator James Boyle’s Philly Tarot Deck, King of Cups
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She’s still sore because I watched the game
last night. This day-cruise on the Rhine
hasn’t changed her mind – although she did
enjoy the Riesling and laughed at one of my jokes.
My dad’s old white mini-van broke down
in the tiny back lot at the Oval––
the engine stalled on the highway,
I wondered where my brothers went
those high school mornings – tying running
shoes, racing into morning fog.
My father was a sailor
radio signal's feverish tap at fourteen
I want to honor the girl I was
playing softball, pitcher, the heart
of the team but shy, the fulcrum
but broken
open by my brother,
calling the shots, catcher is conduit between all, holds the
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I was maybe 13
during that last
The embarrassing shine of new clubs,
clunking against my shoulder, I scan