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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Three Things” Down in the Dirt, v186 (the August 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Lockdown’s Over the Down in the Dirt May-August 2021 issues collection book		get the 420 page May-August 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

His Photograph

Andrej Bilovsky

He had thick scarred hands.
His breath smelled of beer.
He provided one tiny room
for her to share with two sisters.
He bet on sports and he died of cancer.
His teams rarely won.
At least, never as consistently
as the bad cells did.

Now all she has are photographs
and they do better by him.
The hands seems small and supple.
She can imagine them
performing magic tricks.
And the pictures have no odor
but for those comforting
dresser drawer perfumes.
Her old room would fit twice
in her bedroom now.
He stays put in that album,
doesn’t call his bookie.
And look at those eyes, that face.
There’s nothing at all wrong with him.

For as long as he lived,
he was one thing.
Now that he’s dead,
he’s this complete other.
He rarely took her in his arms.
Now he’s in her hands.
There’s the difference.

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