m'daddy's stetson

the last remnant of our cowboy heritage

my daddy wears
an old Stetson
brown as rich topsoil and beat up
like it was passed down
from his cowboy grandfather

it’s brim is just wide enough
to fit all my fingers
if I squeeze them together
and don’t count my thumb
great-grandpa lost use of his
fingers when he was
younger than me
a car slipped
and suddenly he couldn’t hold a rope
which also can take
fingers

the crown is bent
so that when he closes his hand around it
pinching it
he can lift it up
and nod to a lady
“howdy ma’am”
he’d say if he was from Texas

sometimes
I steal it off my daddy’s head
and run my fingers across the brown ribbon
and over the raggedy feather