Donations

I put another piece of my father in the Lions box today.

All month I’ve been saying goodbye to parts of him,

ferreting items

from the trunk of my car to the appropriate drop box,

leaving his things around town,

As if giant bins were lending libraries,

and he was overdue.

Today I left his glasses,

all the  many pairs.

Large brown scratched prescription sunglasses,

dusty bifocals with metal frames.

Dropping the half black ones

from my childhood

through the dark slot,

the ones he wore with one side tucked behind his ear,

and the other dangling down beneath his chin

like monkeys in a barrel,

as he examined broken door knobs

or loaded film into his camera.

Last week I left his clothing at Goodwill.

I removed the pins from his lapels,

the enameled blue Rotary one,

the American College of Dentistry one,

The Quiet Birdmen wings,

and the etched silver heart my mother made.

I found forgotten nametags,

and yarmulkes from services he’d attended,

tucked into pockets.

I found the program to a concert I’d sung in, the one where he came

and ate strawberries at the reception,

and told me how he loved the berries

and the music.

Underwear in the garbage,

handkerchiefs my mother ironed

joining them.

Watches

all stopped

10:21, 3:14, 5:44 and 2:27

Expired passports burned in the fireplace,

My young parents, unsmiling,

curling,

turning to ash.

Cologne.

My father’s smell at the end of the day,

all in small bottles on his dresser.

I could be in that smell.

Suddenly back in the car with him after my piano lesson in town,

Or standing next to his bureau and examine the tangle of cuff links and tie tacks

he kept

in a wooden music box

from Switzerland

while he dressed and dabbed on

cologne.

His Time and Private Pilot magazines,

collected and studied over breakfast each day,

in the recycling box on Wednesday.

His photography equipment,

filters and lenses, enlarger and metal trays,

donated to the art school.

I said goodbye to my father this month.

People will find parts of him I’ve left

all over town.

They will wear his clothes,

They will wind his watches.

One day unexpected,

I may pass my father in the street,

wearing half glasses,

Royal Copenhagen,

and Rockport shoes.