Denim Overalls

Denim Overalls 4. Our small home atop a hill on Lake Isabella, fishing like Dad taught us. Your memory, probably better than mine . . . Always being your shadow. My denim overalls— full of dirt and grass stains from days like the one where you left me on the dock, confused and naive. . . And brought me a bucket for my fish. 10. Mornings were the darkest when we waited for the bus. The milky frost soaked tennis shoes when we’d cut across the lawn. The CD player repeated the Tarzan soundtrack — school days felt like a broken record. On weekends, I’d cheer for you on the sideline and dance during halftime. 16. You came home with a beard and did homework on Christmas. Mom can’t stand teaching me how to drive so we took your car just the two of us. A couple years lost not knowing who we were. Days got shorter when we got older. 18. I followed your steps, Took them miles west. Where snow fell twice as hard, each face unfamiliar every road a foreign adventure. I had homework on Christmas and lonely nights, full of distress. My car tires, stuck in snow The dreadful drive— frozen at a rest stop On my own, no one there to show me the ropes. Finding hope to climb… 20. You wake up in the dark mornings and teach kids the ways of life the way you taught me. We wait months to catch up when our faces mature Hours away, a man with a face similar to mine. Wise and dedicated— A person I hope to be. 31 Shannon Borkowski