Time ticking down,
Like the guttering of a dying flame,
So close,
Can nearly taste,
Where you and me will soon be three,
When our son we can finally meet.

I can picture his little hands,
His oh-so little feet,
Eyes as big as plates,
So filled with possibilities and innocence,
A pitcher for you and me to fill,
With kindness and glee.

But it seems so far away,
Still seems like a bit of a dream,
That the hypothetical seems to still carry me,
On a cloud,
Gently floating,
On an azure dream.

the sun comes at night
the son is a holy fount
electric shakespeare

When, oh when
did I stop smelling your head?
3 months in
and my life is already flashing
in your eyes
Oh, my little kin
It will never be the same
as it is right now,
as it is right now

Why ask why
when I know you are the answer?
You give me reason,
so much joy
and light
Oh, sweet child
You move me with every smile,
with every smile

Your daddy’s son
You are the reason
I fell in love
Oh, you gentle soul
Do you even know
how you’ve rocked my world?
With the sweetest sound
I’ve ever heard,
I’ve ever heard

My little me,
may you always know
the joy you bring
Oh, how I dreamed of you,
I dreamed of you

Goodnight
to you,
my little light
Tomorrow you will light the world
You will light the world.

What I have passed on to my son
is often unclear to me.

I just know
that I had the grace to ensure
the package I passed on
is not the one I received

and that the extent to which
it will be unpacked and utilised
is not mine to determine.

That choice was part of the package.

In one of the pictures, the teacher sent
your downcast face mirrored the day
of the school trip
Your mother said it is because
of the cold you came down with

In your little hands
was a fluffy grey rabbit
looking lifeless, perhaps
afraid of the courage you had
to hold another creature
even though you do not
yet understand the world

Your sister, right beside you
with her typical frown
holds an identical rabbit
representing the paradox
of what the two of you are to each other

When three and a half years ago
I watched, with masked emotions
both of you laying in separate
transparent plastic capsules
trying to make sense of the new world
you had been brought into
the lines and numbers on the screen
the only signs that you will make it

And here you are, in another picture
this time the little fish pond reflects
your smile and that of the other kids
peering over the wall into its shallow depth
each of their innocent faces an untold story
of the anguish and joy
of bringing another human being
into the world.

Dear Dad,

We close our eyes, and we retreat
too a very special place-
Away from worry, away from doubt-
familiar teardrops trace.

So, when I see you, sleeping –
the phone right by your seat-
I cannot help but lay parallel, with you-
& forego frantic defeat.

I cannot help but lay with you
& Join your slumber deep,
Knowing that one day when you leave this earth-
that we can always meet in sleep.

Love, Eric

This cabin smells damp
Tucked away in the timber
Backroaded
Secluded
Welcome to Deer Camp

It was wintertime
And we had to ***
Into a tube in the wall
PVC

I’m at that awkward age
Not lanky
But frumpy and weird
So hand me a rifle
For the slaughter
Of a creature I revered

Man, what we do
To make our fathers proud

My secret was
I hated guns
And loved boys
I really only went on this trip
Because I heard that John
Grilled some mean potatoes

Accented with caramelized
Onions and garlic
The rumors were true
The fire crackles
Against a sky
Of light blue

I watched these men
Bearded and loud
Would I ever be like them?
Did I want to be?
My quiet heart
Felt alien
A freak

I wasn’t a hunter
Instead I gathered
A harvest of me
Thoughts and emotions
Into a cauldron
Of poetry

But I kept that part
Hidden
Tucked away
For another day

The men in their
Camouflage attire
Yawn as the sun sets
I try to fit
Into the cabin
We retire

The lantern’s light
Flickers across
The walls of the room
Sam’s Club candy
For dessert
Distant thunder
Booms

It was bedtime
And a storm was rolling
In the atmosphere and in
My head full of fear

Can someone please
Get me out of here

I cried from my cot
“Please take me home”
My dad glared

What a disappointing
Drive that was
Have I ever not
Let you down?
I think
As blankly ahead
I stared

We pull into the driveway
Ignition turns off
Headlamps extinguish
He unlocks the door
By the light of the moon
I feel
Relief and anguish

Mom was annoyed
This was supposed to be
Her weekend alone
Grieving the death
Of her own mother
She hugs me
While wiping
A tear from her
Cheekbone

Steel Magnolias
And a box of Kleenex
I ruined that

You brought a fairy
To deer camp
What did you expect?

My dad takes me to the hospital on his bike.
It’s icy and he wears his sheepskin gauntlets
and I’m grateful to shelter behind him

secure in his familiar gruff intolerance.
This is not the first time he’s taken TOIL for me
and his frustration radiates through his layers

but this two-of-us space is still delicious,
still precious for its rare warmth.
And he parks, and we dismount like John Wayne,

and the wall of his leather back takes the lead
as I stride into outpatients in his impatient wake,
making demands for his boy from the nervous staff

and taking relief from the update on my progress
and for the scar that gives me some hope of distinctiveness
and a source of stories for years to come.

Stories with my dad.