Canned Peaches and Jam

Theologians tell me that grief is the basement of the soul.

Got it.

My basement is full of Styrofoam cups

beer bottles and pizza boxes.

It’s a sweet place to watch the

big screen, play video games

and chill.

Theological basements are dark and watery and unpleasant.

Mine’s not.

It’s a recreation room with ping pong

and darts where I love to play lions with my

brothers on the linoleum floor.

Its puzzles and games and naps

and books.

Not sure why I brought Mom’s theology books home when she died.

Shrug.

As I read them last night I realized they

were written before dank was a good thing.

Before binge viewing and overstuffed incliners.

My basement is stocked with canned peaches

and jam.

If I could just find my way out of it somehow.

***This poem first appeared in Down in the Dirt, Issue 170 in April of 2020. Then it showed up in their anthology, Formative, then in the anthology, Inside the Box.