My Father's Wooden Bracelet

She’s picking me up

a waterfall rushing down her cheeks

covering me

as my beads absorb

the ocean in her palm 

She’s a familiar face

one I’ve seen before

in laughter

               in screaming

in smiles

               in scowls

but never like this

She used to look at me differently

touch me differently

the girl that once pulled at my beads

and stretched my elastic

now lifts me gently

Placing me on her wrist

transporting me from his life

to hers

Her face used to be plumper

hair used to be darker

fingers used to be shorter

How long has it been? 

I’ve been with him for years

watching as days augment months

months to years

flowers blooming

trees filling with leaves

only to fall again and again

empty branches filling the sky where leaves once stood

I used to see her every day

from the moment she was born

Until something changed

and he brought me here

I’ve spent years atop this dresser

with dusty playing cards

and half-empty bottles

He’d pick me up

from time to time

but never for long

I’ve heard her voice here before

once a week

routinely

but I haven’t felt her touch

since he left them

I sit on her wrist

               finally chosen

as she steps out of the house

The piercing winter breeze 

like a needle to her flushed skin

her sharp arm hairs prickling my beads

She wanders to her car

teeth chattering

staring at the ground 

where his garden used to stand

blooming

now withered away

and covered by an icy sheet

the plants he once tended to

now barren soil

but the seeds remain

even though he has joined them

… 

I’ve been with her for months now

traveling to places I’ve never been 

but most of the time

I’m back at the place I once called home

now without him 

I watch as she stares at his pictures 

her tears a river

traveling down her face

her lip quivering

as she stares

I live with her every day

her life

now mine

the girl who once visited weekly

has been with me daily

the man whose dresser I sat on for years

pictured on a memorial card

sitting on her dresser

with dusty seashells

and dated ticket stubs

She picks it up

from time to time

but never for long

I see remnants of his life

now in her room

               a sweater he once loved

               the jewelry box he gave her

               the box adorned with a painting of a lighthouse

                              housing Alcoholics Anonymous chips

                              and 1980s ticketbooth receipts

               old pictures from photo books

               the rosary he kept beside me

               the cross that once stood above me

his life going on

without him. 

When she picks me up 

day after day

she smiles

eyes welling with tears

and gently places me on her wrist

He cannot be here

but I’m always with her.