Father’s Day

for Devan and Maya

I’m still learning how to navigate the terrain between
fatherhood and second wife,
as if my new moral compass can direct my steps
amongst cracks and chasms,
despite perception being often greater than
the divide.

The man in the Starbucks parking lot yells
to another man hoisting his dog from his car
how beautiful of a Black Lab she is
and the hoister yells back,
Not a white hair in her!
She was actually born on Halloween.
Best dog I’ve ever had!
And I think of people who call October 31st
their favorite holiday,
wondering if that day even IS a holiday,
and maybe because every day I miss my kids,
but I realize my favorite day of the year is now
none.

How a man measures up to his own life
can be calculated once he finally reveals his
degrees of grief.

How he handles moving forward depends on
when he’s finally able to milk the memories from
the mourning.

My stepdaughter’s dog continues to walk around
in circles and my wife says that’s what they do when
they’re looking for a place
to die.
But there are times in our lives when we all
walk around in circles,
looking for our own place to fall
and then get back up,
or not.

My kids joined my wife and I for dinner
this year for Father’s Day,
and no amount of costumes, or turkey,
or shiny presents can coax me into
looking forward to a particular day of the year
any more than the other.
My ideal day is simply breaking bread with
my own blood, laughing with those who
share my last name,
and biting into a well-done piece of meat,
as if all the flavors came together
especially for that meal.