Piece-by-piece, laid out
carefully, just as you explained.
Float, gaskets, fittings. New parts arrayed
to the left of the damaged carburetor.
Screws turned, separation, methodical
disassembly – after all, part of
the recovery process – parts placed
to the right to be cleaned, reassembled.
You coming by every few minutes,
to check my progress, give a reminder,
less hands-on than when we replaced
a transmission the year before.
Glancing beneath the back edge
of the upraised hood, starting the engine
and seeing your smile as you pull the throttle
and those barrels come to life.
Life, and those lessons. We do our best
to build. Sometimes, we need to rebuild.
No more reminders, but I still remember
those lessons and feel your presence.
Twenty-five years ago from today, we lost my father.
I prefer to focus on his birthday, but this came to me last night, a silver lining, of sorts.
Image source: hotrod.com