Ladder
at his
small square
table
we sit
and talk
and his mind
is full of light
pointed up
to the bulb
and told me
it was new
how it gave off
more light
supposed to last
longer
and I ask him
who put it up there
for him
and he gives me
this look
“I did.”
and I give him
this look
“What … but how?”
and he laughs
“With a ladder …”
and I laugh
“But how did
you move
the table?”
and he says,
“I didn’t move it;
I just worked around it.”
and in my mind
I’m thinking
how long
it must of took him
to get that ladder out
and walk it from
where it was
and open the door
and maneuver it
inside
through the kitchen
the doorway
and open it
without knocking
stuff over
and then
put his foot
on the rung
and pull himself up
to the next
‘til he reached the top
and stood there
breathing
how he had to stretch
his arm
and extend his fingers
to reach the broken bulb
and slowly turn it loose
‘til it rested in his palm
how he probably put it
in his pocket
and took the other out
how he carefully held it
like an egg
and fit it
in the circle
and turned it
‘til secure
how he must of felt
standing on that ladder
way up high
changing that light bulb
like it was the sun
in the sky
how it was
something
he could cross off
his list
something
he had control over
something
that made sense
and maybe he lingered
up there
‘cause he knew
what it was like
down there
where his wife wanders
in and out of rooms
and can’t recall
much at all
how she was told
about their boy
how cancer
took his head
how he has
but a day
an hour
a second
to linger
she doesn’t know
they will outlive him
hope you took your time, Papa,
getting down off that ladder
TL