Over a Year
We sat together to share some food.
Our first meal,
my two sons and I,
in over a year.
Minutes, hours, days.
I don’t want to get myself caught,
caught on the side of fear,
the figures feel real.
Though, as much as time hurts,
we all know it can heal.
Being alone in those many dark days,
not knowing when I will see you and you again.
I turn to knowing,
my son, my son.
Every other child I see that is around the age or height is you and you.
It’s too easy for parents to cause shame with blame,
forgetting that a child’s life is not a game.
To write these words and say something like this doesn’t seem true.
It isn’t the real me,
or the father I am for you and you.
Now at this table, this moment for us,
we create and hold our own rhythm,
an environment we trust.
So rather than always counting the days, the months, this year,
I’ll send my breath upon the wind,
and you, and you, and you, will hear.