Set in Stone

A rosary that was my mother’s
tucked in the glove compartment of his car 
and a copy of Exile on Main Street
with instructions to play track 6
when he hit some lonesome desert highway.
I love him so much my chest hurts,
thinking of him riding off into his own life,
me the weeping shadow left behind (for now). 
I know I’ll see him again but it’s ceremony
we’re talking about after all—
one growing up and one growing older
both wild curses.
A train blows its horn 
the light rising beyond the harbor,
a dog barks from a car window 
and the nostalgia (always dangerous)
hits me like a left hook. 
I’m trapped between the memory
and the moment, 
the deal we make 
if we make it this long,
the markers of a life,
the small worthwhile pieces 
that rattle around in my pockets
waiting to be set somewhere in stone.
 

Copyright © 2017 by Kevin Carey. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 27, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.