Shawn Aveningo Sanders
He Called Her Princess
Dad’s absence still lingers in the Missouri air, when the plane punches through the turbulence of grief, thirteen years to the day since he died.
a granite slab
I regret juggling life’s balls in the air, staying away one day too long, before catching a flight home to say goodbye. Mom held the phone to his ear, and we listened to each other’s tears.
missing her date
Thirteen years later and I feel guilty, again. I should have driven Mom to the cemetery and helped her pick out a bouquet for Dad’s grave. Instead, I buy her a new television. She doesn’t trust I know how to hook up the cable box, worries I’ll let the tangle of wires slip behind the credenza.
moon river
She apologizes over and over, as I teach her how to use the new remote control. When I leave, hazel becomes the shade of sadness in her eyes. I’ll call her in a few weeks, ask her if she’s enjoying The Crown.
About the Author
Shawn Aveningo Sanders’ newest book, Pockets, was a finalist in Concrete Wolf’s Chapbook Contest and published by MoonPath Press. Shawn’s poetry has appeared in Rattle, CALYX, Cloudbank, Sheila-Na-Gig and others. A multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, she shares the creative life with her husband in Oregon, where they run The Poetry Box press. redshoepoet.com