Lineage
When my father calls my grandfather, he becomes a son.He calls me to become, again, a father. My son
would have made me a father and my fathera grandfather. The expectation: this would continue,
one long trail of names passed like a candle.I carry the weight of my father’s name.
Some sons say that.My father carries my grandfather to the car,
his body no heavier than a bundle of kindle.
He mistakes my fatherfor his father, so my father is my great-grandfather,until he lays the body down.
If my grandfather dies, my fatherwill become an orphan.
If he dies, I will become the son of an orphan.
We have no word for a parent who’s lost a child.A widower is “empty.”In Hebrew, “robbed.”
My wife refused to call the small white smudgeon the screen a child. Because she never…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, May/June 2020