Father's Day

Recliner With Footstool


uprooted
from the corner of your living room
beside the table your sister built
that held your cooling coffee,
your Bible, a paperback book
splayed at the spine

transplanted
across the prairies
tucked into a spot you’d like
between the fireplace
and a shelf full of unread books

it breathes your presence
shouts your absence

I slept in it
the night you died