And then a different family poem,
not overtly about my own family, although sort of little echo.
A poem called, "Yesterday."
"My friend says, I was not a good son, you understand.
I say, yes, I understand.
He says, I did not go to see my parents very often, you know.
And I say, yes, I know.
Even when I was living in the same city,
he says, maybe I would go there once a month
or maybe even less.
I say, oh, yes.
He says, the last time I went to see my father.
I say, the last time I saw my father.
He says the last time I saw my father,
he was asking me about my life, how I was making out.
And he went into the next room to get something to give me.
Oh, I say, feeling again the cold of my father's hand
the last time.
He says, and my father turned in the doorway
and saw me look at my wristwatch.
And he said, you know, I would like
you to stay and talk with me.
Oh, yes, I say.
But if you are busy, he said, I don't
want you to feel that you have to, just because I'm here.
I say nothing.
He says, my father said maybe you have
important work you were doing.
Or maybe you should be seeing somebody.
I don't want to keep you.
I look out the window.
My friend is older than I am.
He says, and I told my father it was so.
And I got up and left him then, you know.
Though there was nowhere I had to go and nothing I had to do."