dad's old car, parked
in the same spot, flat
tires and moss, rats
nests chewing on wires
all the signs of decay
a little bit every day
since he left it dead
an unremembered number
of years ago, left it
like a tombstone sitting
before the house he built
and i bought to help him
when he ended up living
too long for the pension
to keep up with costs

and i'm still not finding it
that cold spot of practical
allowing me to send it away
to a junk yard for scrap
as it sits there defiant
claiming the home he left

even as he spreads under
the Japanese Maples
with mom in her favorite spot
both the earth they loved
the trees, and each other
for as long as i can remember

it takes two
to know your body
when you forgot how
some memories will sit
gripped in lumps perhaps
in the place shoulders connect
to what you though was easily
a relaxed neck but instead
twists into a tucked mound
the heart packed away
   so long ago
the only way to know is through
   another
whose hand finds it, regardless
   and never relents
until the new found
bolt holding in
what form you had
can be released