Letter from Tahira to dad in jail
left little room
for ambiguity
There are wrinkles
in the core
Here
and cardinals
sing along with white-
throated sparrows
in various cadences
above my head
while I write lesson plans
on a glass table
about meiosis
for tomorrow
(bad jokes
included)
“Mom says
I can’t do
meiosis
until I finish
my interphase”
She was younger
than me and brimming
with possibility
a decent job
friends to meet,
appointments,
and azaleas turning scarlet
I try to live a life
of clean example
Somehow I ended up
with the remnants
of mistakes
and forgotten dreams
Maybe I will meet
Picasso in the next heaven
where I am a cube
of his former love-life,
strumming a guitar
in cubism
compare
painted brushes
and humbler
fantasies
and possibly
create a new
genre
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