rocker raze the fedex driver was gone before i could see his face. he left something on my doorstep. fifty pounds of love packed into a cardboard box. i dragged it inside the house, half-awake and as close to naked as i could make myself without offending the delicate sensibilities of anyone unlucky enough to catch sight of me. the packing slip said "convey". i try to do that every day. socket head cap screws and flat washers secured arm rests to seat bases and bonded bottoms with backrests. i counted each turn of the hex key. a square of tempered glass slid into a woven frame that needed steel legs and a support brace to help it stand. red and white striped pillows hissed and swelled after i cut them loose from their airtight plastic tombs. at the end of it all, i had a table and two wicker rocking chairs. we sat and swayed and watched the smallest things that live on our street come to life. i saw one of hoppy's_children. we admired each other until a passing car startled her. a grey-haired man who lives on the other side of the dark paved path that separates us stood beside his daughter's minivan. "we're rockers now," my dad said. the man tilted his head back, smiled, and said, "as it always should have been." he guided his tired body onto the passenger seat and closed the door. we watched him disappear. i studied new shoots poking out of wet bark and felt you holding me through the strong arms of the gift you gave me, a little less than fifty miles away, and near enough to touch. 220607 what's it to you? who go blather from