Poetry By Rebecca Ellis

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The Bench

I was sitting on a bench in the park
watching the mallards fuss on the lake
when my father, dead ten years, 
sat down beside me. He didn’t ask first,
just sat. His tan overcoat, the frayed left sleeve.
The buttons, pale as sand, and the darker thread
my mother had used to sew them on again. 
You again, I said. What is it this time?
He was quiet for a while, not even breathing--
he never breathes anymore—and finally 
said, I can’t get used to this. 
It was my turn to be quiet. 
And then I said, I can’t help you with that. 
He looked at the ducks, not watching me, 
and more of the afternoon disappeared. 
Finally I got up and walked along the path,
my hands stuffed tight in my pockets. 
He remained quiet, sitting there. 
Tomorrow when I go to sit on the bench
he’ll be back.

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Rebecca Ellis lives in southern Illinois. Her poems can be found in About Place Journal, The American Journal of Poetry, Bellevue Literary Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Calyx Journal, and Crab Creek Review. She edited Cherry Pie Press, publishing poetry chapbooks by Midwestern women poets.