My Father in August

By  Eve Coffman

I was watching a red and purple sunset
From on top of the playhouse,
Still small enough not to fall
Through its fragile roof.

It rained that night,
So we got into the car
To search for beady-eyed toads
On the slick asphalt.

I was sure that you would find one.
We would bring it back and name it
After something that breaks dirt –
“Dozer” or “Jack.”

But we came home without a toad,
And you went to bed without a word.

Unable to sleep,
I crept into your room.
In the darkness
You looked unfamiliar.