Jigsaw

The soldering iron
traces our last name
on the side
of my new jigsaw
the burning plastic stinks

My father hovers above me
though we were the
same height

He would be eighty-six tomorrow
he lived much longer
than my mother
who divorced him
when I was six
because of the drinking

He stopped
but not soon enough to
save his marriage
that’s ok
he had other marriages

His ghost says
“You should solder your
drivers license number
into the jigsaw”
certain identification

“Dad,”
I imagine myself saying
“If my jigsaw
gets stolen
by someone named Powell
I’ll tip my hat”

The ghost shrugs
and shakes his head
“Do what you will”

When I was thirty
and wanted a motorcycle
so badly it hurt
he did not shrug
do what you will
instead he said
“Dream it, don’t do it”

He had wanted a sailboat
but married my mom instead
Dream it, don’t do it

I wish he had said
“I worry about your riding a motorcycle
it fills me with dread
and fear”

I still would have bought it
I did
I rode it for three years
had my fill, sold it
never rode again

The soldering iron
has cooled off
I put it back in the toolbox
I smooth out the letters
of our name

Our name, six letters
I miss you, Dad
the tears fall easily
this is good enough

I’ve been an orphan
for a decade now
I don’t know what I’m doing

I don’t think
he did either