The sun has shifted

The sun has shifted

after Diana Der-Hovanessian*

When your father leaves,
no umbrella will protect you;
it rains day and night.

When your father leaves,
you find yourself walking in mud;
your mother despises your boots.

When your father leaves,
you try to excuse him,

hating his foibles, loathing his qualities.

When your father leaves,
no matter your age,

you must become Father.

When your father leaves,
the day’s filled with thunder,
the sun blacks out.

When your father leaves,
he eats up your childhood,
leaves you starving.

When your father leaves,
you beat the world with a club

and smash up the sun.

When your father leaves,
your sun shifts forever;
you stumble in your own shadow.

* Written around September 2015, as a result of reading Der-Hovanessian's poem. 

Fatherhood

A recent poem....from just a few weeks ago. 

Last time I saw this young man

he was callow, naive, could

put his foot in whatever was

in-put-footable.  Now, he holds the

hand of a curly-headed three-year-old boy,

grinning, both of them grinning,

delighted to be in each other’s life,

the ginger-haired, short-cropped father,

the curly-topped lightning-smiling

boy.  ‘And we’ve just had number two,’

says the father, shining.  ‘Just

three weeks ago.’