what my father made and gave me, nouns:
transistor, fastening, capacitor. he was a sort
of sorcerer, wizard at building, his mind
a sleek machine of memory, rebuilt
from youthful chaos and some suffering
we didn’t discuss, just fixed into a different
tense. the five of us, assembled, 1980,
rendered late, again: my mother, brothers,
stars are moving on a screen my father took from
separate components, fused, they dance, laugh, entertain,
reflect us, lit up swing sets, sunsets, tv sets, antenna,
current, plug, each piece makes another work. hot spark
of a soldering gun connects by melting; he is always
working, making what we need to see. we move
from planet to electric planet, apple 2e joy, invaders
tick atari basement aliens we shriek at, shoot
up, 2d childhood, sweet summary of super glue
and batteries: he has a fix for anything we break. i’m
sick this year, my voice back young again, some fear:
dad? can you help me for a second here?
we’re all grown up but i am not immune
to what’s most fragile in me or the story at his stories’ cores:
that we will be okay, that he’ll make sure—
but this fix needs a tricky switch flipped back to who we were {a cure?}
“healthkit tv 1980” is excerpted from absolute animal (University of Chicago Press, 2023). © 2023 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved.