Already he’s lived a dozen years longer
than any other man in his bloodline.
One died of malaria. The rest of heart attacks.
Not one of them knew how to show love.
Sometimes a river changes its course—
perhaps slowly, eroding over centuries.
Perhaps all at once in a mighty flush,
as after a flood or an ice-floe.
I want to ask him how change happened in him—
how the impulse toward anger
rechanneled into tenderness,
into patience, into a willingness to be vulnerable.
I want to believe the same might happen for the world—
that by tending our hearts more carefully,
we might jump the banks of what seemed possible.
We are all of us here to be changed.
And to speak of stone that stood for generations, yet the water of this strong river carves smooth curves in that!! And THEN – those smooth curves cradled YOU!! How lucky are you (and me, for that matter), that your daddy jumped the banks of patterns past. Happy birthday to him! Love and Namaste my friend
yes, how lucky for the WORLD to have good fathers! Love to you, Augusta!!!
Beautiful tribute. So too is your face, clearly his daughter. This tenderness indeed overflows from your poems and your choices, changing the world.
I am SO clearly my father’s daughter. And yes, that tenderness … thanks for this note. Big big love to you
I wish that more men had been able to do that. Sadly the violence continued through my dad. I love the idea that it isn’t always the case.