Poem a day 2015: 22

Dreaming of You, Dad

Amazing how, now that you’re gone,

I think of you more and more often,

and you enter my dreams with some

regularity -- a strong, slim presence

such as you were in the sixties, before

the stresses of academia and fakery,

the pressures of fatherhood and family,

inflated you with anger and despair.

I can’t quite recall your words as you

offer casual opinions about world affairs

and my ongoing place in them, or advice

for navigating a position in administration

with a modicum of grace, despite the

hidden snakes and the open haters

(you’ve figured out, it seems, that

I’m slated to move into it in August),

but I do remember your sweet smile

and the shine in your eyes, warm now

with love and appreciation. I can even

reinvent, like the afterscent of smoke

soaked into my clothes, the feel of your

strong arm around my shoulders and

the rub of your hands down my skin

as you pull me in against you.

These dreams reassure me. It seems

you are indeed in a better place. But

they also make me sad -- to know that

some of us have to die in order to love.