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.