Category: Family

No One Involved Will Read This

There we are together, smiling.
You’re holding the baby.
He’s sleeping softly against your chest,
wearing his little cap, red-faced.
You look so very happy.
I have my arm around you.
For reasons that are unlikely to become clear,
I’m wearing a propeller beanie.
My mom and dad are next on the bench,
both smiling, or maybe laughing.
Dad’s hand is on my shoulder,
his other arm around my wife,
who sits at the far end of the bench, also laughing.
Across from us are Jeff and Leeanne,
whom my wife and I would eventually visit
with our own baby, years later.
They are laughing.
I believe this photo was taken
on my twenty-sixth birthday.
I was young and so very much in love with you.
Later that night I’d be on stage at the Blue Nite,
everyone in this photo in the audience.
In a matter of weeks your friend in Las Vegas
would invite you to come out to the desert
to live with her while you figured out your next steps.
I’d drive you to the airport, one hand on the wheel,
the other holding yours, dreading the end of the drive.
But right then we were just in love and laughing
and celebrating a birthday and full of Mexican food.
Did everything seem possible? I can’t remember.

/ / /

1 February 2022
Latham, NY

End of the line

Your parents’ house is gone,
replaced with a larger,
less interesting version of
the suburban dream.
Four generations of your history
and someone knocked it down,
just like that.
I’m a sucker for a good metaphor
but c’mon.
Can I tell you the stupidest thing?
I ate a breath mint just before I arrived,
on the off chance you were also
making a stop on a farewell tour.
You weren’t, of course, more’s the pity.
Have you replaced me with a newer version?
I guess it doesn’t really matter.
I miss your folks, though. They were my
last remaining parents.
As I drove out of town I said
“Goodbye, Livingston,” aloud,
for what I assume was the last time.
Thomas Wolfe. What a bastard.

/ / /

23 January 2022
Livingston NJ &
Colonie NY

Thanks to CC for the title.

We’re in our bedroom. I’m standing behind them, arms around their waist. I ask whether there’s anything we could do to fix things, to be together. They smile sadly but don’t answer. That’s when I awake, my brain saving me from another crushing reply. Christmas slips the knife back in. I know it takes time, but hasn’t there been enough? I’m ready for the part where it hurts less. Mostly I just want them back so damn much and I want to stop wanting that.

the kettle is on
in someone else’s house
Christmas