NEIL MCCLELLAND

The Shadow of the House

ice-heavy powerlines down
my mother’s new confusion

I take the raw turkey from the oven
its wad of stuffing like a stopped heart
I swaddle the bird in foil, cradle it
over deep snow to the barbecue                                        
make gravy on the Coleman stove
with her beside me, whispering
I don’t know what I’d do without you
leaning in against my arm
I feel the weight of her failure
I haven’t given her anything
 
the fire I built outside the back porch door
the frozen plastic lawn chairs
our beer deep in snow

time, electrical, 
fails with the lights
 
The next year I ask
Remember when I built a fire
outside the back door?
it might make her feel bad
for not remembering
but I forget and ask anyway

something sparks in her

Your fire made a hole in my lawn—I planted flowers
but the shadow of the house
killed them all