I look at you lately
the way our father looks at his iPhone
without his glasses on.
Arms outstretched, squinting,
searching for the true picture.
I wasn’t near you when it happened,
I don’t know what you did
or how it looked
when the hurried plan
didn’t come to fruition
I’ve tried to poke my head
into those parallel universes
without easy smiles about football
and grand plans for new lives
every other weekend
You are a sprawling flysheet
in a strong wind
that I am trying to pin down –
we’ll need more pairs of hands
if this is ever going to work
The team is assembled
and I will hold my place here
in the backline.
I will hold fast
to your slippery corner
The cold air
pummels my cheeks
but I feel our gravity,
the weight of all our feet,
increase with each passing second
I hold my gaze steady;
I wait for the picture.
I will welcome the details
with open arms whenever
you are ready.