Wreck Anniversary

The first day that felt like autumn was the second
anniversary of the wreck. The one that took my dad
and dumped him in a ditch, as boken as the bike.
I spent a lot of time on my porch not remembering,
with Isabel urging me into games with plastic rules.
I drove home from work that night in the cool
window air and felt the wheel of seasons click over
another time. This was another fall coming
when I wansn't looking; another summer I lived
and sweated through until the days waned
enough to bleed the grass pale and sallow.

But I haven't told you that my dad survived.
He's in his Eden now with Mom
building a mansion with one room and as many
windows as they could find. He sent me a picture
that day with a note that said he'd forgotten
the wreck until they started driving home.
It's a place just north of here where I doubt
anyone could think much of the past. It's a place
made of eons of future and ages of present time.