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“Are you going to apologize to me?” I stop his sentimental speech to prepare.
“I was considering it.”
“It’s just you’ve never apologized to me for anything. I almost killed myself as a teenager trying to please you and live up to your standards. Even then, you didn’t apologize. So, if you are going to, I want to be ready.” Is this what dying feels like? When your life comes full circle and everything sets into place?
“Kenzo, I’m sorry, I should have been better. Supported you in what you chose. I’m sorry you lost the woman you loved because of me.” Dad holds a hand on my shoulder and leaves it there for a long time.
Long enough for me to stare at him and think I might be having a stroke because these things don’t happen to me. I am the firstborn son for crying out loud; I am the one parents ruin with expectations and then have their second son be everything they dreamed of.
“Are you dying?”
Dad removes his arm.
“No, son. I am just trying to tell you how I feel, and I am sorry about everything. I want you to know I would be lost without you if you weren’t here. Don’t tell your brother, but from the minute you were born, I felt like I found my purpose in being your father.” This time, he wipes away a few tears. “I never wanted to let you down, but I know I did in ways I can never make up for.”
“Cool. Cool.” I don’t know what else to say; we both watch the woods, waiting for nothing but the present to continue.
~
48.4733° N, 92.8268° W
Voyageurs National Park
Phoebe, you were the one to believe first, and I fell into the limelight where beauty was blinding and the truth of triumph freeing as it burned my blood with evidence of evolution.
I miss the sweet memories of walks next to wild rivers in my home state.
I forget why moments where my voice was silenced by your insecurities.
Do you wonder about forever?
Was that the option for us?
There would be the promise in a different culture, the tattoo where ink soaked so far into our bloodstreams, the meaning of love was our names.
The cultural match-up where you were mine and I fell apart knowing the coincidence of belonging to you.
The drumming of our ancestors was supposed to set us both free.
Devastated, I’m with you.
In the darkness, in the despair.
Our lack of esteem acknowledging the other in the room.
Welcome, my name is me. And I am a prisoner in the chains of expectations.
Where we both fall victim to hope.
There are a few poems you used to write; I wonder if you still do. But this one I memorized just for me and you.
Reminding me, the clouds sway blue.
Purple sunsets streak over the orange moon.
Each rock we’ve climbed,
aimed at higher climates,
