These are the sounds that make me sad

It’s like a whoosh but not quite,

the sound of a heavy door pulling

away from a soft cushion

of thick weather stripping.

It reminds me of visiting grandma,

ringing the doorbell and her appearing

behind the square pane of privacy glass,

and then whoosh as she opens the door slowly.

She’s surprised to see me and grins,

holding the storm door open

with frail hands and saying,

“Hot enough for you?”

Then there’s the scrapping sound

of a rusty shovel being dragged

back and forth across the surface

of the bed of a Ford F-150.

It’s like a grading sound

as I push the shovel away from me

and more of a scrapping sound

as I pull it back with a scoop of mulch.

I’m working outside with my dad,

and taking his hat off his head,

he’s saying, ”It’s funny,

trees are cannibals.”

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