Surfing
people alway told me
that time moves faster
when you’re an adult
and you wish more than
anything to stop it
when I was young
everything that
mattered to me
had an expiration
the Nintendo games
and VHS from
that rental store
of dry air and wonder
fireflies in a mason jar
with the holes poked
in the lid
the times my father
came in from Ohio
Friday to Sunday
my exuberant and devestating
bookends
no one knew
I would stay awake
and watch him sleep
to make sure he didn’t
disappear
or that single week
in a dead heated summer
when my mother
would step off the plane
each single day
I felt die in my chest
weigh in my stomach
I’d keep her awake
all night talking
because she said
we were night owls
and I thought
maybe if I was
more like her
she’d take me home
now I’m here
at the edge of forty
and time has elesticized
seeing myself
within my sons
if I had grown in a house
that was safe
I feel the end
of every single bit of me
coming in this dark
swelling wave
the one I know
I’ve been waiting
to ride out
kick my feet
one last time
with no plan
of coming back
3 thoughts on "Surfing"
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Heartbreakingly well done.
I love this. It speaks to breaking the cycle and creating a more loving space for your sons to grow up in.
This is fantastic!