May 2016
What's in a man
My mother always said to me that the day I was born my father ran home and changed into his finest suit.
In his words "I am a man now".
I do not remember the time but I know she described it like the sun hung on to the sky like a bright yellow lantern trying not to fall.
Everyday I wake up, my goal is finding that suit, something to say "I am a man now". Some fabric made of second hand wool and words and actions, all trying to fit into the same seam.
I was three the first time my father called me the man of the house, I was five the first time he meant it. Since then he has been more sky than earth and I have been the bright yellow lantern of a sun hanging on, trying not to set. Trying not to dip behind the clouds because I know better than most that the shadows of fathers are long and dark.
It's been over two decades and I still don't know the recipe for a day, I still count my steps between sunrise and sunset and believe life is everything that happens between a day dream and a night mare. I still describe life between the shades of grey as if Sophia's eyes have ever been ash, as if my mother's smile has ever been anything but an upside down rainbow trying to catch rain.
But today I a become old enough to know I am not old enough to know what makes a man
But I know that each day demands a different recipe.
Some days I am simply my brother's keeper
On other days I am the last straw on the camels back trying to balance.
My mother always told me that faith is showing your belief in the sky by planting yourself deep in the earth.
And that is why we bury.
So today maybe all I need to do is just be.
A pigment of dirt and air and a spirit that has pretended long enough till practice makes perfect.
Maybe real men don't exist, and we all just have faith.
My mother still tells me about my father's favourite suit.
She's said he carried me with pride and I was his glow of fabric and wool.
So Maybe that's all a man is,
The chin that holds heads up,
The lazy sun catwalking across the sky that keeps the darkness at bay.
And this is the man I choose to be
A sacrifice to the world.
A cemetery for your bones.
My mother always said to me that the day I was born my father ran home and changed into his finest suit.
In his words "I am a man now".
I do not remember the time but I know she described it like the sun hung on to the sky like a bright yellow lantern trying not to fall.
Everyday I wake up, my goal is finding that suit, something to say "I am a man now". Some fabric made of second hand wool and words and actions, all trying to fit into the same seam.
I was three the first time my father called me the man of the house, I was five the first time he meant it. Since then he has been more sky than earth and I have been the bright yellow lantern of a sun hanging on, trying not to set. Trying not to dip behind the clouds because I know better than most that the shadows of fathers are long and dark.
It's been over two decades and I still don't know the recipe for a day, I still count my steps between sunrise and sunset and believe life is everything that happens between a day dream and a night mare. I still describe life between the shades of grey as if Sophia's eyes have ever been ash, as if my mother's smile has ever been anything but an upside down rainbow trying to catch rain.
But today I a become old enough to know I am not old enough to know what makes a man
But I know that each day demands a different recipe.
Some days I am simply my brother's keeper
On other days I am the last straw on the camels back trying to balance.
My mother always told me that faith is showing your belief in the sky by planting yourself deep in the earth.
And that is why we bury.
So today maybe all I need to do is just be.
A pigment of dirt and air and a spirit that has pretended long enough till practice makes perfect.
Maybe real men don't exist, and we all just have faith.
My mother still tells me about my father's favourite suit.
She's said he carried me with pride and I was his glow of fabric and wool.
So Maybe that's all a man is,
The chin that holds heads up,
The lazy sun catwalking across the sky that keeps the darkness at bay.
And this is the man I choose to be
A sacrifice to the world.
A cemetery for your bones.
