Jeff Burt
Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz Country, California. He has previously contributed to Sheila-Na-Gig, Heartwood, Willows Wept Review, and others. He has a chapbook, A Filament Drawn so Thin, from Red Bird Chapbooks, and a book The Root Endures due out from Sheila-Na-Gig in fall 2025. More can be found at www.jeff-burt.com
The Difference Between Father and Son
It appeared your hand
exploded from the firecracker,
sparks for fingers,
flame and detonating light
emanating from your wrist.
The dark field lit,
your anonymous friends
stood in the flash
of momentary wonder,
fear on faces that etched
a memory against
a whitened tent
in a dusty desert
and you near a wall
whitewashed to cover graffiti.
Seconds later that instant glee
and grief transformed to relief
as your hand appeared
healthy and lithe
beyond the hem of the cuff
and you were whole again,
as much as we are whole
to begin with, the paper
of the poorly fused dud
still stuck to your thumb.
I wanted to kiss
each fingertip
seared but saved.
You stood ready
to light another.
Confusion
It was a Saturday and yet he was Sunday-dressed,
a plaid shirt buttoned at the collar
and a plain tie that flopped below his waist,
a tan sports jacket and khaki pants
with new charcoal tennis shoes poking out.
After I said it was the wrong day for church,
then told him confusion is common in dementia,
he said we would go anyway. It wouldn’t hurt.
When I told him that no one else would be there
he said that was all right, maybe better that way,
we could listen better if no one talked.
He hadn’t gotten dressed for nothing.
