tupperware 

at the first sign of rain 
i went outside into our tiny square
of a backyard, took the fishing rod.
(the one we used twice a year) (if
we were lucky). (from the wall of the garage)
(the line still tangled all around).
i put the spare hooks
through my lip (you wouldn't approve)
i know, that's why i did it. 
(also) it's an convenient place to hold them.
with me, i took some assorted Tupperware.
of course, none of the lids matched,
some dull red & some blue. a circle 
a circle a square, a round square. 
as deep as a bath tube (as swallow).
we went fighting in the lazy Susanne.
you are good are organizational systems.
i am good at chaos & standing outside unafraid 
to be struck by lighting. 
(that's the only way you'd ever be able
to catch it). (a ripe bolt). (as blue
as they come). i wanted to find one
for you, keep it in the freezer
behind the ice cube trays. (for when you maybe
come visit me). (stay still).  
will you eat it with a fork (plastic?). 
did you know that sometimes 
electricity in our blood
can make us forget words? (what words?).
(daughter & father & yard & rod &
rod & lid). hand me the lid.
(which one?). the red-blue-green.
i'm not fishing. these hooks are
for aesthetics. there must be
one with a lid that matches it's body.
(one that's deep enough). does your
father know you're here? (probably not).
i would call him but then he'd ask
about how the thunder smells 
& i would have to lie & say 
that it smells like cream soda.
snapped the top on. this one (right here)
is for you. i waited three hours
for it in the rain. my fingers
went prune. the yard grew weary 
of me (the yard hundreds of miles 
away from yours). i'm saving this
for you so that you'll remember
that time we sat in the garage. 
you took the fish hooks out (gentle).
the blood trickled. the lightning 
so sweet. licorice & mango:
a seed smacking the soil.
(our soil). i'm saving it. (for you).