my dad & sardines

American Poetry Review, The, Jan/Feb 2004 by Derricotte, Toi

my dad's going to give me a self

back.

I've made an altar called

"the altar for healing the father & child,"

& asked him what I could do

for him so he would

do nice for me. he said I should stop

saying bad things about him &, since

I've said just about everything bad

I can think of &, since . . . well,

no, I change my

mind, I can't promise

him that, but even healing is

negotiable, so, if he's in

heaven, or trying

to get in, it wouldn't hurt

to be in touch. the first thing I want is to be able to

enjoy the little things again-for example, to stop peeling

down the list of things I

have to do &

enjoy this poem, enjoy thinking about how, scouring

the cupboards, I found a

can of sardines that

must be five

years old &, since I was home after a long

trip & since it was I A.M. & I hadn't eaten

dinner & since there was no other

protein in the house, I cranked it open &

remembered that

my dad loved

sardines-right before bed-with

onions & mustard. I can't get into my

dad's old heart, but I remember that look on his

face when he would load mustard on a saltine, lay a little

fish on top, & top it with a juicy slice

of onion, then he'd look up at me from his soiled

fingers with one eyebrow

raised, a rakish

grin that said-all

for me!-as if he was getting away

with murder.