Posts Tagged ‘parent’

Four from Chicago




One When My Grandfather was Still Alive



in the subway tunnel

the arching notes of Danny Boy

on a violin—

I walk slower to meet the train

I arrive twelve years ago


One Courage



hearing the moan on the other side

or is it a low laugh—

still choosing to open the door



One Near Totality



eclipse behind the clouds

so much beauty we never see—

sunflower blooming in a distant field





One New Time Signature


my father a song

I used to think I knew—

this morning, I hear

the same song with new ears,

or is it that the tune has changed—

all day I hum it,

all day I feel lucky

to hear him humming back

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empty space

at the dinner table—

a flower without its petals

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In the Current

I pin him, my boy,
on his back on the floor
in the late morning sun
in the quiet kitchen
and hold him there
in the warm orange light
beneath my weight
and threaten to tickle
his belly, his sides,
and I know that he knows
that if he says stop, I
will stop, but oh,
the sweetness of what if,
how it ripens in these seconds
right before the plunder
that doesn’t happen,
our eyes locked and bright,
the morning a boat
we delight in rocking,
knowing that even if it capsizes
we both know how to swim.

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