Gifts
dad had a kandinsky print called pink sweet
hanging in the downstairs bathroom| i asked
him why the triangles were all over the place|
dad had a cancer| a tumor painted on his lung
and brain| on one birthday he gave me a dictionary|
and another| a map| what are you looking for| i know
the way the cells spread| it’s a desperate
thing| we are also that lost and searching to expand|
our bodies destroy the places we want for home|
i roam this city earth like a shape on a canvas
of warm reds| once he said he thought the dead
turned into lamplights and such| like stars| what god
or ghost did you find in the house| i am alone|
Dana Jaye Cadman is a poet and artist. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in New England Review, The Literary Review, North American Review, Atlanta Review, and Raleigh Review. She lives and teaches writing at the edges of the New York boroughs.
