I wanted to know

I wanted to know
the places he’d been
wanted more
about the lay of his land

taken to visit him
for years
stiffly sharing a sofa
with my brothers
trying to suss out his affinity for
stony reticence

all I was asking for
was a history
every time I got the same
a pen
no well
a page
no line

I wanted to know if he
saw mountain lakes through
his clouded eyes
groves of cedar in the
shadows on
his smoke filmed walls

because I tell you,
there is
nothing scenic about following
a corpse wagon
through a neighborhood
held together with coal ash
and scar tissue

if there were any answers,
there they go,
to greet the sunset
with a shrug

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead