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The Missouri Review 27.1 (2004) 94



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My Father's Brain

The brain jostled by the long carriage ride. The many meanings
of the word "ride" converging in the womb. The brain, the
common cabbage of the gods, a meal unto itself.
A face twisting to accommodate the brain's decline. Sick from
memory he took a walk in a new forest. But even there every
tree reminded him of a previous tree, a name gouged in the bark.
My father, turning inside out. It is a long process. Exposure
to air causes the brain to rust. A smug ignorance grows on
the doctors' faces, a fungus. They shave, sink turns green.
I pray for a halt to the proceedings.
My father turning to stone. It is a long process. His legs are
almost there, and his left arm. His eyes, whitening.
Soon we will wheel him to the pedestal in the park where he
can join the chorus of birds and weather, free of all memory
except the one carried by each of his children.
And what is that to trees, to stone?
Jeffrey Skinner's other recent prose poems have appeared or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Iowa Review, Boulevard and Slate Magazine. His latest play, Make Someone Happy, was a finalist in the Eugene O'Neill Theatre Conference.


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