En Passant by Charles W. Brice

Mother with her Father, by Jake Reinhart.

Grandfather's Wool Jacket, by Jake Reinhart. Click on jacket to visit photographer's website.

En Passant
 
I.
On the hanger
its shoulders droop,
an empty avatar
of his being.
He wore that jacket
when he raked
leaves. It was his fall
cloak. He cut a strapping
figure—long black pipe
jutting from his mouth
against the moldy mound
he set ablaze when
he was done. That smell
told our lives.
 
II.
The new people painted
the wall where he hung
his jacket. Mom held onto
that coat until the day
we carried her away.
It still held his smell,
even if she alone
could detect it.
 
III.
Now he dwells in a frame.
He was a Marine.
Semper Fidelis he’d say
and kiss mom. He never
spoke about the war.
 
IV.
Sycamore shadows splay
across the garage door--
tesserae of light
behind which he
kept the rake along with
his other tools.
 
V.
Mom holds his picture
in a frame of her
holding his picture.
The paint on the front
railing is chipped. The new
people haven’t gotten
to it yet.
 
Charles W. Brice

Charles W. Brice’s full length poetry collection, Flashcuts Out of Chaos, will be published by WordTech Editions in June, 2016. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Atlanta Review, Chiron Review, Fifth Wednesday Journal, Avalon Literary Journal, Icon, The Paterson Literary Review, The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Spitball, Barbaric Yawp, VerseWrights, The Writing Disorder, and elsewhere. He was named an International Merit Award winner in the Atlanta Review’s Poetry 2015 International Poetry Competition.