by Audrey Molnar '19
From my father-
his level headed cognition taught me
I wish my hands were as strong.
A brother’s matchbox cars,
rusted ones I was afraid
I had just showered.
A great grandmother never met,
assume she’d like me-
dubious claims animate loss.
A sisters insults
towards a set of t-shirts and jeans.
Wardrobe is not a presentation.
The pink basement walls
cinderblock and paint.
A broadway stage
made of sheets and storage shelves.
An art studio of baskets and canvas.
Dirt and plywood.
Flies and a broken family above.
A level head fully inherited, palms
burdened by rust.
I come from my father.