Alive by Rhea Tregebov

Taking It In

by Rhea Tregebov

I call to ask you about property taxes
and you tell me about the light.
Every time I call, my prudent
father, you tell me about the light,
the way it comes in through the window
and moves over the floor, over
the kitchen table, how it lays hands
on everything. And I listen, and see
you at the kitchen table in Winnipeg,
the crisp blue sky a rectangle
in the window. Oh love.
That gives me a window
like this, a father, light.
I think you are going
like oak, like brandy, like
dark wine. The good stuff
you’re made of taking the light in.

From (alive): Poems new and selected.

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