Dad

yankee go home. dad hands me

a plate of pancakes at 3 in the

afternoon. i am home.

and here I believe the old man

is trying to project a sense of

normalcy,

that life goes on. we catch

yawns from the TV, bury

our cats in the backyard.

these things take time, and

you never know when life will

come back around the bend.

it’s strange; you move a plant

from one spot to another, and

you may never see it bloom

again.

Dillon Cranston is a poet and writer living in Los Angeles.