RELAX
Reading a book
Eating grapes
Lounging at pool
Atmospheric treasure
Xanadu
i am eldest daughter
who wished to be first-born son
so i could carry some of the load
my sonless father
could not lay down
i once watched him
carry a refrigerator up a flight of stairs
alone
I’M FINE.
he assured
he wasn’t
It’s the summer solstice and I run free with my bare feet,
the summer glow on my skin shimmers in the sunlight,
drops of sweat form on the bridge of my nose.
I feel the light surrounding me.
Weaving through every pore, activating energy within.
I’m wearing my favorite skirt—
the one with slits up both sides,
light, breezy, cozy, divine.
I walk to the garden and let out a sigh.
Just looking around me gets me high:
the tall trees, green grass, the birds and the butterflies.
Before the dawn could find the ridge,
he’d lace his boots in silence,
a coffee cup, a weathered lunch,
and shoulders built by reliance.
The mountain knew his every step,
the drift, the seam, the stone.
It took his strength a little more
each day he called it home.
Some mornings he descended deep
where sunlight dared not fall,
where only lamps like captive stars
could answer darkness’ call.
He swung his pick through ancient earth,
where coal lay black as night,
to pull from buried ages past
a family’s candlelight.
Other days he’d climb the cab
of a rumbling coal truck high,
its engine roaring through the fog
beneath the mountain sky.
He wound through hollows, over grades,
where one mistake could cost.
The weight behind him wasn’t coal—
it was the fear of loss.
He knew each curve by memory,
each switchback, rut, and bend,
and whispered quiet prayers to God
at every journey’s end.
His hands bore maps of honest work—
cracked knuckles, scar and stain.
The dust would cling beneath his nails
though washed a hundred rains.
His children only saw him late,
when supper filled the room.
His tired smile outshined the lamp
that chased away the gloom.
He never spoke of sacrifice,
nor counted what he’d missed.
His love was written differently—
in every calloused fist.
A patched-up roof before the snow.
warm boots against the freeze.
A Christmas tree with modest gifts,
still placed with thankful knees.
The mountain kept a piece of him;
the highway claimed its share.
The coal dust settled in his lungs,
the diesel in the air.
Yet still he’d rise before the sun
to do what fathers do:
carry tomorrow on his back
for me, for them, for you.
And when the old men gather now,
their working days complete,
the mountains seem to bow their heads
beneath those weary feet.
For kingdoms are not built by kings
whose names the histories claim.
they’re built by fathers dressed in soot
who never sought for fame.
So if you hear a coal truck groan
along a winding grade,
remember every family tree
those faithful hands have made.
The richest seam beneath these hills
was never black with coal—
It beat beneath a father’s
steadfast, giving soul.
I wanted to go right,
but at the end of the road
a fallen tree
blocked my path.
I turned left,
hoping for
a better experience.
The drive started smoothly,
aside from gravel
crashing against
the side of my car.
I slammed the brakes.
Pulse rising.
Shattered windshield.
Where did that massive,
terrifying rock come from?
My heart tried to beat
its way through my chest.
This road is not safe,
at least for me.
I stopped the car.
Stepped outside
and walked
my own path.
Maps made by others
never led me home.
I was never meant
to drive.
For Kent
starship enterprise
engage the aft transporter
one to disembark
to seek out new life
and new civilizations
the alpha quadrant
vessel approaching
open hailing frequencies
lower the shields
lock on tractor beam
modulate the deflectors
set phasers to stun
the hull is buckling
warp core breach is imminent
photon torpedo
live long and prosper
all transporters are offline
the final frontier
Praise be the sun on this longest
day
The summer days stretch &
the sun gives us his glory
I watch a bee on a cosmos
Praise be to that which created
the universe, who chose the gift
of life.
As we turn in the wheel, I pray
to be a devoted as the bee,
as trusting as the nasturtium
who can’t guarantee the sun
will be there when they rise
as open & grounded as the pine
and as joyous as the sun himself
who will never dim his light for anyone.
–
May I continue to reconnect
with ancestral knowledge & the land
The climate keeps getting worse
& it’s all our fault, may I
continue to reconnect to her, Mother earth
I have been severed from you
for far to long.
the polished blade of the corridor
leads her to the council chamber
the eyes of the leering lords
latch to her heavy gait
their minds full of scorpions
their breath of iron and decay
for it is true what they say that
even your own shadow
abandons you in the dark
someone spoke of grain and maize
someone spoke of borders, blood
your grace –
no, let us proceed
the realm awaits
the wheel shall never miss a turn
let rattle snakes rattle
let weeping willows weep
never let the frame
of things disjoint
not even as beneath
the ancient swords and banners
white ink
blossoms
through her silk –
warm milk
meant for a mouth
no longer hungry
My wife made me a banner
my kids colored in the things they like.
They stayed up to show me
too late, because work went long.
I have to leave on Father’s Day at 5:15 AM
so I celebrated on a Saturday night.
My wife wrote me a card
filled it with her own impactful words
gave me an amazing gift with a dad joke.
She printed off cards for the kids
they all said their dad is best at hugs.
I hug my kids often
I tell them I love them more.
They were so excited to celebrate me
and I feel like they did too much.
Fatherhood is work I want
to do. Selfishly, it heals the hurts
buried in me
dioxin in a superfund’s soil.
My son Jackson’s
answers for
what does dad help me with?
and
what do I love to do with my dad?
were both— build forts.
I didn’t build forts much
when I was a little boy.
I didn’t know I could ask
or necessarily that I even wanted to.
We build a fort almost every day
for Jack to snuggle inside, climb on,
his brother to destroy
or some mix of all of it.
This is my fourth Father’s Day
and it feels strange to be celebrated
for the thing I love most.
