Widower’s Summer Project by Mark J. Mitchell

He meant to build a room. Loose lumber leans
against his fence. That’s proof—this is the time.
He’ll square windows, frame doors, sketch out straight lines
with chalk. He’s bought new tools, shiny. They lean
dry, sheltered by eaves. But his nights are lean—
 
His time leaks away. His hands are too soft
for sharp work. But he means to do it this time.
Loose glasses slip down when he kneels. The lines
aren’t strict. At least, that one he drew got lost.
Gray concrete won’t set. All night it stays soft
as gum. And nails slide, saws just won’t align.
 
Why do ghosts need rooms? He wonders and leans
on stucco, rolling a bottle of lime
pop, cool, on his forehead. He hasn’t seen
her—nights stay vacant. But a new room means
purpose. Means the séance will work next time.

About the Poet:

Mark J. Mitchell was born in Chicago and grew up in southern California. His latest poetry collection, Starting from Tu Fu  was just published by Encircle Publications. A new collection is due out in December from Cherry Grove. He is very fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka and Dante. He lives in San Francisco with his wife, the activist and documentarian, Joan Juster where he makes his meager living pointing out pretty things.