I stand beside the back door
on a Sunday afternoon
the light is low
I've just returned from a trip
in my grandparents Rambler
I'm not more than four
a day spent with cousins
whose names I never knew
a wood paneled room
I never visited again
my first Big Red
my dad asks me
"Jamie, where did you go today?"
And I respond
"Daddy, you know I don't know where I went"
If there were a bead for every time my father
told that story
that necklace of beads would stretch
beyond my sight
nine words made what could have been
a forgettable afternoon
more than it was ever meant to be
