The moth locked up all
winter in the strongbox.
Mostly
mind after a while.
Flimsy scrap
of sky. Diligent
calm.

Like my father
without weight. The door

between us made of water.

Wake up, Daddy.
Your cup. I’m calling.
The whole

thing at once—once

and for all.

 

Photograph by Angie Garrett

The Case of the Missing Miss Vincent
Car Concentrate