Best New Poetry: Snickers Bar by Tracie Renee

Snickers Bar

by Tracie Renee

I know my father

carried storms inside him,

storms his own father

passed down—

first the war

and then

to forget the war

the drinking and

always the hunger

inside him, the empty place

he was trying to fill but

the best part of being eight

was the way my father

thought of me

everyday

on the way home

from his post office job,

everyday

at the gas station

where he’d stop

to buy a six-pack

and top the tank

and tip the attendant

for the overpriced

Snickers bar

I’d eat

all in one sitting

even if he’d sprung for

King size.

I never asked him

to buy them, and

he never asked for

one bite, died

before I thought

to break the bar

in half but

I keep him close now

in every room

crowded with things

that try

to beat the rain

back—

my father and

the boy he was,

the one who waited

outside the corner store

on the block we never

drove down. He is

kissing his nose

to the glass. He is

dreaming. He is

stuffing  

empty hands into

empty pockets.

He still believes

that someday

this storm too

will pass.

---

TRACIE RENEE (she/her) is a librarian, a Publishers Weekly book reviewer, and a BOTN-nominated writer who lives and dreams in sort-of Chicago. Find her in HAD, Orange Blossom Review, on Bluesky @tracierenee.bsky.social and at https://linktr.ee/tracie.renee.