You Had a Father, Let Your Son Say So
Shakespeare, sonnet 13
I stared at the title too long and knew what settled on my chest
Was my reluctance to use the first person
And to acknowledge the ladder that leans against the wall
Rung after rung takes us to the roof where we can see
What we don’t want to see backyards and dogs roaming a fence
A car parked in the driveway where someone’s daughter
Bends over to create a scene for the cutting room floor
I sometimes remember my father’s hairline and the way
He got angry about what he read in the newspaper
And how white he was when he talked to me via a note
Rung after rung and we find ourselves looking down
On where we are now and when we look up
The redshift we see reminds us
It is time to embrace the first person |