“The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener
is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not
have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”
—Granger to Montag, Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
“You were only waiting for this moment to be free”
“Blackbird,” The Beatles
it was only ever you
who really knew me
the exposed me and the true
and i suppose that was the final straw
i tried to take you
for sushi once
but the restaurant was closed
so we had Thai instead
then later at a bar nearby
i cried talking about my daughter
because i am the type of crier
who makes others turn away
and now some times
i pretend we are alone
listening to “Blackbird”
on The Beatles’ White Album
sharing a beer from a can
and talking about the novels
i have gathered
on a shelf only for you
•
i am sitting alone at a bar with friends gathered for a holiday party
adults hold babies and beers while children weave through the talking
one father stands in a small group his daughter close with her back to him
he reaches almost without looking tucking her exposed shirt tag under the collar
then he gently rubs the curve of her spine along her impervious child’s neck
and there in that touching and her still everyone else disappears and then silence
as i drift on that father’s love of a child once again back to you humming “Blackbird”
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