Each time the phone rings I imagine It will be Father on break from some job Or traveling to one in the blue truck That seems as much a part of him As his long hair or faded jeans And I will say Hi Agidoda how’s it going And in a voice I barely remember he will say Working the mines in Mon County again Where the mountains gave me your name One of us sits alone at night picking Mountains out from under his fingernails And one of us remembers walking all day To the highest peak in the holler And both of us have found our eyes In the hands of the river And brought them home again for awhile And I will say without saying I stand In front of the mirror each night Agidoda Searching for you in my own face Because I am almost the age you were when— Quiet for a minute then he will say Something about how trees keep standing Because they know when to bend Or something about how the New River We almost jumped into all those years ago Is the oldest in America and hey Bridge Day Is next month so nihi want to go with me And I will say something about how I still dream of him trapped in a mine Because that was the only reason I could imagine why he would disappear And these fall days are getting shorter But you know I can still remember spring Which means yes Father yes Agidoda yes.

LUCIEN DARJEUN MEADOWS was born in Virginia and raised in West Virginia. His poetry has appeared in West Branch, Shenandoah, Pleiades, Narrative, and Beloit Poetry Journal. An AWP Intro Journals Project winner and PhD student at the University of Denver, he has received nominations for the Pushcart Prize and awards from the Academy of American Poets, American Alliance of Museums, and Bread Loaf Conferences.