by Charlie Stevens

I met my father when he was a child,
drinking through a straw,
he was vulnerable.
His eyes were just looking,
he was very young.
Sometimes he would smile very peacefully
I couldn’t look away when I was there
He didn’t say anything
sometimes he bit his lip
in fear.
I kissed him on the forehead, the second kiss,
the first was forty years ago when it was me that was the child.
It’s a long time between kisses.
It’s a long time between kisses.
We held hands and I told him everything,
that I hadn’t meant to hurt him and that I wasn’t hurting any more.
He just looked…………………
His eyes wandered as they do when you are very young.
Occasionally he would squeeze my hand but never a word to me.
It takes a while to learn to speak, but to listen does not take time.
We listened.
Then on the last day I cried in his lap
holding both his hands, I looked up and through that wonderful wetness
the miracle happened.
His eyes steadied and his breath deepened.
Softly in a way I had never heard him speak
‘Goodbye’
he said as if I was going somewhere,
I wasn’t but he was.