What You Think about When Someone Tells You Not to Think about It
She waited for me to fly to her,
memory forming the shape
of a dulled hook, body folded neatly
like that of a foal able to rise in an hour.
My father didn’t want me to remember her
this way. Better to think of electricity,
her eyes when she met us at the door.
On the plane home, I listened
to a cassette of Clifford Brown,
high trumpet shouts of a man
whose son had just been born.
I pictured his body in the back seat
of a car that had run off the highway,
rain keeping time on a hi-hat roof.
Daniel M. Shapiro is the author of Heavy Metal Fairy Tales (Throwback Books, 2016) and How the Potato Chip Was Invented (sunnyoutside press, 2013). He is the reviews and poetry editor of Pittsburgh Poetry Review.