{"id":805,"date":"2010-07-05T16:06:52","date_gmt":"2010-07-05T21:06:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?p=805"},"modified":"2010-07-05T16:06:52","modified_gmt":"2010-07-05T21:06:52","slug":"amydavid","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/","title":{"rendered":"Amy David"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Help Yourself<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Baggage<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n


\n<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
\n<\/strong>
\n
\n<\/em><\/p>\n

Help Yourself<\/strong><\/p>\n

Before my father died, he stuffed his pockets with fire trucks
\nfrom all of the area precincts. I knew of his theft, but the sparks
\nof red were the only color he had left and so the engines
\nwent wailing to his grave.\u00a0 When the smoke detectors cried
\nover my mourning toast, the volunteer brigade answered on foot
\nand without a ladder. It was the luck of a garden apartment
\nthat they shooed me from the flames like a foiled potato.
\nUnable to aim the spray, the firemen joined me beside the hydrant
\nand we watched the blaze slither upward making everything strange.
\nOne suggested they could do more with the proper equipment,
\nand I explained that everyone who leaves me takes more
\nthan what belongs. He nodded and ran to my open window.<\/p>\n


\n\"\"<\/a>
\n<\/strong>
\n
\n<\/em><\/em><\/p>\n

Baggage<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

There are no more fathers.
\nEveryone gets a briefcase
\ninstead, brown leather
\nwith brass locks and three initials
\netched into the spot
\nbelow the handle. Children spend
\ntheir train rides guessing
\nwhat the first two stand for.<\/em><\/p>\n

If a father would have coached
\na little league team, the son
\nfinds a lineup inside.
\nSome discover trail maps
\nand merit badges, car keys
\nand advice columns, a little
\ncash for ice cream at the beach.
\nThe girls with no mothers,
\neither, are faced with tampons
\nand training bras. Teenage boys
\nare grateful for condoms
\nwithout the awkward talk.<\/em><\/p>\n

When middle-agers turn the dials
\nto their secret combinations
\nand pop the latch, up turns
\na letter laced with guilt
\nor a nursing home bill. So many
\nadults started flinging
\ntheir briefcases into the lake,
\nCongress had to pass a statute
\nnicknamed the Oedipus law.<\/em><\/p>\n

It surprised me then, how many
\nof my friends were jealous
\nof the ones that had always
\nbeen empty, or sadder still,
\nthe ones that bulged with secrets
\nunknown behind impervious locks.<\/em><\/p>\n

Amy David moonlights as a poet in Chicago, IL. Her work has appeared in a variety of journals including <\/em>Foundling<\/em> <\/em>Review, <\/em>Writers’ Bloc, and <\/em>apparatus magazine.<\/em><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Help Yourself Baggage Help Yourself Before my father died, he stuffed his pockets with fire trucks from all of the area precincts. I knew of his theft, but the sparks of red were the only color he had left and so the engines went wailing to his grave.\u00a0 When the smoke detectors cried over my […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[14],"class_list":["post-805","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-july-2010","tag-amy-david"],"yoast_head":"\nAmy David - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Amy David - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Help Yourself Baggage Help Yourself Before my father died, he stuffed his pockets with fire trucks from all of the area precincts. I knew of his theft, but the sparks of red were the only color he had left and so the engines went wailing to his grave.\u00a0 When the smoke detectors cried over my […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2010-07-05T21:06:52+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/07\/borderdiv.jpg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"ElynnAlexander\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@elynnalexander\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"ElynnAlexander\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"2 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/\",\"name\":\"Amy David - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/07\/borderdiv.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2010-07-05T21:06:52+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2010-07-05T21:06:52+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/#\/schema\/person\/8aa50927b6e529e3d4bc18c86ca8c7a2\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/07\/borderdiv.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/07\/borderdiv.jpg\"},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Amy David\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/\",\"name\":\"Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\",\"description\":\"Archives Of Previous Issues\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/#\/schema\/person\/8aa50927b6e529e3d4bc18c86ca8c7a2\",\"name\":\"ElynnAlexander\",\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/www.elynnalexander.com\",\"https:\/\/x.com\/elynnalexander\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/author\/admin\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Amy David - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/amydavid\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Amy David - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)","og_description":"Help Yourself Baggage Help Yourself Before my father died, he stuffed his pockets with fire trucks from all of the area precincts. 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