2 1/2

2 ½.

(not 2, not 3)

at 2 ½ glasses

a tender window

creeps open

shining light

on closely held thoughts;

my father reveals himself

letting vulnerable center

sneak out from

the precarious gap

between pane and sash

at precisely

2 ½.

at 3

the window snaps shut

with a bang

that rattles as he

storms out of the room.


at 2 ½ glasses,

my father

is puzzling about his father

(a man who had no such windows

at any number)

i see his confusing

swiss-cheesy, mostly missing-pieced effect

and i have to wonder

how my father

ever found his face at all.

i allow my armor

to nudge to the side

as compassion

surrounds my being

and we sit


in all that vagueness;

as 3 comes, and the window slams shut

i respect the distance

and quietly

lift my glass

in honor of my father.


zaidsong   zaidsong wrote
on 10/9/2008 11:10:20 AM
Wow -- nice interpretation. But, a little skewed. I wish it was 2-1/2 hours. It was 2-1/2 glasses. He knocks that back in about a 1/2 hour. My father, now 70 and with 57 years of drinking messing with his ability to relate to human beings, still does not seem to have found his face. I have deep compassion for him, but no longer have contact.

OneVoice   OneVoice wrote
on 10/9/2008 9:08:01 AM
...wow, I get it! "In honor of my father"... As you sat with him (this vulnerable man who never found his face, the one trying to put the missing pieces of his life together)..., you opened yourself and demonstrated compassion. You honored your father by being 'in the moment' with him... in that '2- 1/2 hour window…, letting him share the kind of moment with you that your grandfather never shared with him in his 2 - 1/2 hour need. Your dad looked for his face from his father, but only found it through you. So, in honor of his father..., your dad gave you in the only way he learned from his father to give - through a limited 2 - 1/2 hour window. What an amazing story. Well done!

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