Paternity

Paternity

The hole you punched in the wall when I was eight
told me we were missing something.
All these years later, I wonder
if we've found it.

I got up this mountain with my knees wrapped
around your broad shoulders.
Now that I've grown, I'm not sure
how to get back down.

What love tells us isn't who we are,
but who we'll miss--
the things we can't do without,
but not why they're precious.

Lilacs in the garden,
dog-sledding through suburban streets,
misspelled notes to clean my room,
screams and silence and laughter.

Look! I'm actually using stanzas.
When it comes to you,
I've always had trouble
breaking the rules.

The kind of love between us
is nothing spectacular:
It's a day-lit forest,
a kiss goodbye,

a band-aid, right when you need it most.