Running to catch an unraveling sphere,
Running after my leaving siblings,
I trail in their laughter
As it rains on me,
so easily left behind,
Everyone waits with a blank face around me,
Till they know nothing worthy will follow,
They laugh at
the joke with no punchline.
I will stand at the chair in front of my father's empty desk.
The one place I know,
that he truly wants to be at in this house.
I wish I could garner the attention he wants to embed to these inanimate objects.
I stare at them,
wondering how to become that important.
Maybe it's something that comes with age.
My family is always so capable,
I can't even skip a stone on still water,
they make it seem.
I am always waiting to be their age,
To finally matter,
In total wonder of their capabilities,
I'll never be fast enough to catch up in age.
Forever waiting behind.
The baseball falls in the grass, the red stitching coming undone.
My father pleased that we're together, playing ball.
Not an interest of mine,
just the generic thing a father does with a son.
that he wants to be back in that empty chair.