My Father and a Fish SandwichRemnant of a conversation about cod,
half-finished, on a plate without garnish
or side-dished distraction, just eyes
looking at eyes before I recognized
the rest of the face holding them.
I realized I was having lunch
with a ghost and I wasn’t eating.
He offered me a bite, implied
motorcycle ride without regard
to weather or attire. Dreams do not
have time for formalities. He said
he wouldn’t finish if I had to get going.
Where? I asked. I’ve got all this life
to live and his has already been swallowed
Copyright © 2014 April Salzano
Recently nominated for two Pushcart prizes, April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two sons. She is currently working on a memoir on raising a child with autism and several collections of poetry. Her work has appeared in journals such as Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Camel Saloon, Centrifugal Eye, Deadsnakes, Visceral Uterus, Salome, Poetry Quarterly, Writing Tomorrow and Rattle. The author also serves as co-editor at Kind of a Hurricane Press (www.kindofahurricanepress.com).