Three years after my father's death br he goes back to work. Unemployed br for twenty-five years, he's very glad br to be taken on again, shows up br on time, tireless worker. He sits br in the prow of the boat, sweet cox, turned br with his back to the carried. He is dead, but able br to kneel upright, facing forward br toward the other shore. Someone has closed br his mouth, so he looks more comfortable, not br thirsty or calling out, and his eyes br are open, there under the iris the black br line that appeared there in death. He is calm, br he is happy to be hired, he's in business again, br his new job is a joke between us and he br loves to have a joke with me, he keeps br a straight face. He waits, naked, br ivory bow figurehead, br ribs, nipples, lips, a gaunt br tall man, and when I bring people br and set them in the boat and push them off br my father poles them across the river br to the far bank. We don't speak, br he knows that this is simply someone br I want to get rid of, who makes me feel br ugly and afraid. I do not say br the way you did. He knows the labor br and loves it. When I dump someone in br he does not look back, he takes them straight br to hell. He wants to work for me br until I die. Then, he knows, I will br come to him, get in his boat br and be taken across, then hold out my broad br hand to his, help him ashore, we will br embrace like two who were never born, br naked, not breathing then up to our chins we will br pull the dark blanket of earth and br rest together at the end of the working day.