14
wanting into need. The heat
between us is cata-lust—
catalyst for all living things.
Here we’re mightier than God.
Now tell me about the ether
between here and heaven.
Milk of a Heavy Moon Frothy Like a Tea Cup
My father is a present in and out,
pantomime of a thing maybe he never was.
It’s been awhile—we
never say, never acknowledge.
Voice aged and tired, lacking
syrup, on the telephone he is an old man,
strained by a lifetime of disappointments.
This is not what he thought his life would be.
His failing marriage, my stability,
our roles inverted and reversed.
We are unsettled. Too much heavy cream
in a needed lite communion drink.
He says in vagaries, under the rim
of porcelain firmer than his lips,
You’re too old to be my child,
I’m too burdened to be your father.
This weight is heavy,
son, can you lift it off me?
I don’t know how to be my father’s father.
If this incredibly weight was mine to lift
why was I born younger than you?
I cannot carry the question to him.