Seersucker

—after Deborah Digges

To the curator of my father in the next room:

His closet of trousers was custom-made

From Circassian walnut. Inside

His sweaters and shoes are gray. You will find

His belt buckles busted (he was growing obese),

And his coat pockets will be lined

With pastry crumbs. Opposite, his smell still

Lingers through his wife’s clothing,

Like broken wind. There is probably change

In a thousand year-old coffee can on the floor.

But if you find his seersucker,

With grass-stained knees and a yellow t-shirt

Shoved into a sleeve, bury him in it.

I want to see him sad one more time.