it’s a concussion that is hanging on.

Rest, they say. Sleep, they say.

Take this pill. No, this pill. Well, maybe this one.

And there’s the pill that makes his feet swell.

And the one that blurs his vision.

And the one that makes it hard for food to stay

in his belly.

And when none of those pills work,

there’s another doctor to see.

Mama gets up before it’s light out to drive him.

Makes their coffee so strong, I can smell it

upstairs. I hear her making breakfast, smell the bacon and then the sweetness

of her maple pancakes, the ones where she spreads syrup over them, then puts them

back in the pan until they nearly burn but don’t—

just get sweeter.

I know I’ll come down to find my parents gone,

my breakfast under foil on the table, the house

too empty. Too big.

Later, with the sun up, I go from room to room,

touching my daddy’s trophies and medals,

sniffing his pillow—which smells like the lavender oil

Mama rubs his head with every night to help him sleep.

I walk into his closet, touch the line of helmets

on the shelf, the rows of sneakers and cleats,

the ties hanging together like one big red, green, orange and blue fan beside his dark suits.

I put my feet inside his leather shoes

that are so big, my feet disappear.

Try to walk and fall.

In the quiet, with nobody but me in the house,

I put my head on my arms

and cry.

Friends

One Saturday, Darry, Daniel and Ollie show up

at my house so early, I still got

my pj’s on. Under their jackets

they got on pj’s too.

Darry’s wearing ones with Batman

on the shirt, and Daniel’s are covered

in blue and pink poodles. He says

I dare y’all to try to laugh

at these jammies my grandma sent me.

We all go into the kitchen

and Ollie opens the fridge

like it’s his own house, which

it kinda is because he’s always here

and always opening the fridge.

Y’all want grilled cheeses? he asks

and we all say Yeah.

Ollie learned to cook from Bernadette,

who said I’m not raising a son

who can’t feed himself when he needs to.

We sit in the kitchen eating and talking

about everything except my daddy, and it’s like

my boys know that all I need right now

is for them to be around me, stretching

our grilled cheese as far as we can from our

mouths and laughing when it strings down

our chins or snaps against our noses.

All I need right now is the sound of their voices

filling up

all the empty spaces.

Who wants seconds? Ollie says.

And we all say I do!

Pigskin Dreams

My daddy always loved telling me about

his pigskin dreams.