Father Hunting #4

 

I was born with one free admission to fantasy

so it’s not like my father ever really left me

 

over the years I tried fathering on my own

as if something in me demanded an expression of love

having nothing to build on planks turned to dust,

the bitter wind wiped whatever planted

out of memory, out of mind.

 

dreaming became the reality, not the dream

I’d find myself waiting on the thin edge

of an expectant crowd, a surrogate father,

folding & unfolding my arms in embrace

the plane would land, the commuters disembark,

out of a collision of welcome

a small boy surfaces

guarding a smile he meant to leave on the plane.

 

I’d want to be searched for

to be picked out of the crowd like family

I’d want to be missed and discovered

I’d want him to run to me like a son –

 

 

always I would be caught

in the eyes of a small stranger

filled with the leaving behind

 

beautifully rounded blue eyes

that wanders past me towards the exit

like the echo of tired footsteps trailing the laughter

of two old and weary friends

 

I’d accept the least.

arriving at what seemed to be home

the need to be loved almost became an embrace

the shadows of house

would brighten with the reserved laughter

of two passing friends

and their waiting for the plane to land love.

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