My Father Now That I Am Twenty

             for William Sukach

It was Sundays. Then,
it was every-other Sunday.
Then, holidays, and now
only now and then
that I see you.

Like now, that I need
to know how to tie a tie
because my new job
requires this.

That you stand by me,
now that I’m twenty
and an inch taller
than you,

in front of the mirror
where my left is my right
when tying a tie.

We are together, crossing,
overlapping, pulling through
finally, tightening and
straightening out the knot.

When it is finished,
turning to me, you pull,
tug, shift and pat,
saying, “There…”

Admiring the work of it,
with what you have done,
is there something more?

I turn to view my tie
in the mirror
now that I’m twenty,

and watch that reflection of your arm
from the left,
the right, moving over my shoulder.

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