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Dad - Molly Blumhoefer

lost in a corner of the yard

I grow close to what you could have been

a mountain

discarded tires, splintered lumber, chicken wire, a green velvet couch,

broken toys, smooth colored glass, crates, and other alleyway treasures

fishing lures sprinkled about, ornaments of imagined summers

your prosthetic leg hung at the top like a star on a tree


I grow closer to what you were

half-grown tomatoes and empty beer cans next to the fence

a grill covered in residue from burnt hamburgers

a bare window through which I watch you shoot at screaming crows

but only shattering limbs


Molly Blumhoefer grew up in Minneapolis. She currently lives with her husband in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She writes poetry, creative non-fiction, and fiction. Her nonfiction has been published in Adelaide Literary Magazine.



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