Page 18 of Wayfarers

and an orbital saw, a sander, a nail gun,

turning this van into a home. Wiring the thing

myself, and the way I felt when the electrician

I’d called in to check my work told me I’d done

a good job, Cal frowning behind him

like this was somehow bad news. We can hire

someone to do the rest, he’d kept saying, but I said

no. I’d felt so practical then. Grounded. Better

than where I came from. Now I just thought of Cal

on the side of the road if I needed to remember

what I’m really worth.

Tonight, while Jan

and Dan fussed over me, I felt ashamed. Kept staring

through the fire to the space out where

some happy family had been hours before. All I could see

was nothing. All I felt was grimy and tired

and after I made my excuses to my new friends

I grabbed my shower caddy and went to wash it off.

Knox Baptism

I bought it a couple days ago at a truck stop

outside Grand Rapids and hid it

away like a talisman at the bottom

of my pack: a bar of classic Irish Spring.

My mamaw always had it

in the white porcelain

soap dish in her bathroom.

While I lathered my hands I would inhale

its chemical perfume. I would seek

the traces of its scent lingering

on my fingers on my way home.