The baby who is no longer a baby,
but always my baby, is practicing her setlist.
All nerves and stoke.
She’s performing today. Wherever she can plant herself for
Make Music Day.
She will make her guitar sing
And my heart gush.
Are you listening?
He keeps talking. About his day. About his new phone. About his upcoming surgery.
I’m talking to you.
Please, be quiet for just one moment.
I love you.
I love you
Are you listening? I need you to hear me.
I never shout.
My voice is rising,
As if everything hinges on this message.
I love you, Dad.
I ask for nothing in return.
I slept on his floor
Guarding against the invisible intruders.
He is able bodied
But his mind doesn’t want to cooperate.
Fact and fiction
A venn diagram, if you will, of memories real and make believe.
How to navigate these soft edges of truth?
Why is this happening? He asks.
I don’t know, baby boy. I don’t know.
And so we march on, tangled.
Bigger than ourselves.