Semi-Speculative Elegy
BY MIKAELA HOOVER
After Traci Brimhall
My father died in a hospital bed talking
about helicopters & home
& my father walked out of the army base where he worked
& pulled a handgun from a guards holster
& shot himself. & liver failure. The smile he wore to my college
graduation was surely not a sign. & his ghost
was already walking the halls of his brand new house.
He stepped in to his office & told me
stop using my PC for a stupid farm game.
I downloaded it a lifetime ago.
My skin prickled & crawled, which is how I knew
he was joking. Probably.
& my father died jumping from the helicopter
after asking if he could.
& his bones thinned & broke off before
he could pick them away. Once
he appeared a decayed body still standing.
& I was wrong, which means…
he never died. Why when I show up at the hospital
do they kick me out?
He wants to go home. He told me so. What I use
from this memory is not much
more than an allegory. My father as the rabbit. Disease as the turtle.
Truly morbid reenactment.
& angels dust off his motorcycle strap on his boots
offer me their wings.
I know what he would do.
Wait until their backs were turned
flip them the bird, & sit quietly
until they returned.
