Joseph Hardy

THE ONLY LIGHT COMING IN

 

Once I got a haircut north of San Francisco 

after an earthquake had knocked out 

all the power in a strip mall, one 

stylist open for business,

 

the only light coming in 

from the windows, 

twilight inside as we talked, 

and she told me

 

she had Hodgkin’s disease, 

but sometimes felt better,

and that she lived alone on a houseboat

with a fierce German shepherd,

 

her cutting my hair, alone in the shop

completely accepting her hands 

and her small re-positionings of my head, 

and I don’t remember how

 

we got to that point, but she said, 

there’s a couch in the manager’s office,

but I can’t close the store 

midday, or I will lose my job.

 

And when my wife came in to pick me up

the two of us started 

as though we were lying on that couch

or I’d asked when she would be home.

IN LATE AFTERNOON

 

     after his first congestive heart failure,

I found my father asleep in his bedroom,

 

no longer theirs, my mother sleeping

in a room down the hall,

 

his breathing bubbling gurgles, the musky scent 

of him overpowering in near dark 

 

shade of oleanders and bottle brush 

he’d planted for privacy the year he bought the house.

 

Sweat saturated a towel on pillows under him 

propping him up so he wouldn’t drown.

 

The damage of childhood he drank to numb

and the toll of drinking become one thing

 

less important over time, like the name of a town 

where you grew up, a car you once owned.

Joseph is one of a handful of writers that lives in Nashville, Tennessee that does not play a musical instrument; although a friend once asked him to bring his harmonica on a camping trip so they could throw it in the fire. His wife says he cannot leave a room without finding out something about everyone in it, and telling her their stories later. Joseph has a BS degree in psychology from Stanford University. His work has been published in Inlandia, Gyroscope, The Tiny Journal, Sheila-Na-Gig, Penultimate Peanut, and is forthcoming in Seven Circle Press, The Bookends Review, Poetry City, Reality Break Press, Glass Mountain, Funicular Magazine, Kind Writers, Pub House Books, and Crack the Spine Literary Magazine.

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