The handyman I hire is new to this by Abbie Kiefer
Associate poetry editor Lisandra Perez on today’s bonus poem: My breath was caught in my throat after reading this poem. There is a beautiful brilliance and melancholy in the way time moves here, as if the poem is quietly inviting the reader in. A tender look at a nuanced handyman, Kiefer’s piece is simply incredible.
The handyman I hire is new to this
area—just moved from Nevada, where his wife drowned in Clear Creek. He mentions the drowning as he works loose his boots and now I’m sorry I asked if he’d leave them at the door. Sorry for the soft crush of socked feet on carpet, for the red welt of thread that holds each sock at its seams. I show him the warped window, braced against its own slip, and he says wet weather is swelling the sash. He swears they never had this kind of problem in Nevada.
Abbie Kiefer’s work is forthcoming or has appeared in Arts & Letters, The Cincinnati Review, Grist, Poet Lore, and other places. She is a reader for The Adroit Journal and lives in New Hampshire. Find her online at abbiekieferpoet.com.
