I want the sun to come out.
I want world peace.
I want my father.
I am pouring another cup of coffee.
The sun may come out this afternoon.
Given the nature of human beings,
we will never have world peace.
My father is dead, cremated, buried.
I will always have my father.
We are at the breakfast table
in that crowded 1950’s kitchen
making clever puns together.
No, he’s holding onto the seat
of my brand-new two-wheeler,
or I’ve just jotted this little poem
that I really want to show him.
See how it will surprise us both.
Penelope Scambly Schott is a past recipient of the Oregon Book Award for Poetry. She grew up in New York City and now lives, writes, and grows old in the small wheat-growing town of Dufur, Oregon (pop: 635).
