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Me and Him
It wasn’t anything other than an afternoon
with my almost-sixteen-son, me throwing
lacrosse balls his way and him catching them,
me a forty-five-dad in khaki shorts with winter legs
and him suited up in helmet, gloves, and stick
looking like a medieval primed for jousting.
It wasn’t anything other than that, an afternoon
of what he called perfect weather, and then my
throwing arm sore the next day as were my eyes
for I’d had to constantly adjust my sights with
each throw as his life kept moving perfectly before
me, pure horizon farther and farther away.
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this is perfection.
Oh, Suzannah…thank you.
Amen to what she said. Sharp intake of breath over here in CA as my ‘boy’ of 40 has to take his girl of 2 to Children’s Hospital tomorrow for a 2nd go round with childhood arthritis inflammation. That vision thing gets blurrier and blurrier. I’m remembering being in the hospital with this grown-up doctor man when he was 9 and again at 14. And now his own little one… sometimes it all blurs together, doesn’t it?
Diana, yes, blurrier and blurrier…thanks so much for stopping by.
oh my, a striking post! just profound.
Ben, thank you for taking the time to write a few words. I’m glad you liked the poem.