Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
“Mom, when’s that man leaving?” asks the little girl.
That little girl is his, he’s the daddy.
He’s worked away from home so much,
such long stretches, his daughter is forgetting
ghosting his presence.
He blames his chosen trade, his aways,
He also blames his wife for not fusing
him into Riley’s memory
and heart, no matter how many pictures
he texts to share with his girl.
He is sitting on the Loser Cruiser, the bus
that will deliver him with other long-faced men to the plant
when he feels a pain in his gut, a meteor
parting earth and stone
a saddle blanket of sadness
that bows his chin to his chest.
When he reached for his final can of beer last night
before his grit-eyed early flight north this morning
he glanced at the front of the fridge, wondering
what’s changed since my last trip home?
He registers the change: where are his pictures?
Where are the photos from last August, showing
his girl how to hold a miniature fishing rod?
Where is the picture of him dressed
as Santa with Riley big-eyed and squirmy on his lap?
Where is he in this new rocky landscape?
For two decades Shannon Kernaghan and her partner followed the energy circus, to be near oil-related work. During part of that time, they lived in an RV while battling tornados, hail and rogue wildlife. Shannon writes and creates visual art from Alberta, Canada. Her work appears in books, magazines and journals – poetry, fiction and everything between – and she continues to tell her stories at www.ShannonKernaghan.com.