After “Figure [ ? ]” by Erin Marie Lynch

The lyric, too, is a trauma response.

Father, your nose—after the broken windshield—psoriasis-red.

Once, it was flesh-tone.

Then I was born.

I learned your stories until cancer, swollen in your throat, took your words.

Then your memory was a small glass box inside my memory, a larger glass box.

Father, your nose—flattened to an image.

Once, it was flesh.

Then you died.

In our living room, while I watched.

The moment before the car crash endures longer than you lived.

Stillness only avoids what happens next.

For so long.

The lyric, once, was a trauma response.