PONYO
My dad is dealing solitaire.
I watch, from across the room.
He doesn’t notice me there, lost in his game.
He’ll win this one, and make like he doesn’t care.
How young he looks!
In a few seconds, he’ll catch his card,
the game will be done.
He’ll shuffle the cards and start over. He’ll ask me how long
I’ve been standing there,
and if I’d care to mow the lawn,
or go for a ride on my bike.
“I don’t know,” I say. He lights another cigarette, and fans
those cards out on the table like a magician. I can’t tell him
I’m afraid he’ll disappear in a cloud of smoke
any second, so I listen
to the sound
of the snapped-off cards, and watch
as he gets younger
and younger and younger, lost
in another game.
“I guess I’ll mow the yard,” I say.
“Yes,” my dad says, “I thought you might.”
When he pays me
for the work,
he’ll tuck a folded twenty dollar bill
into a handshake
and wait, grinning,
to make sure
I don’t disappear.
He’s only a year or two older
than me by now,
and puts his arm around
my shoulders. He squeezes
like my bones are a couple
of crucial playing cards.
“You’re a good kid, and I love ya,”
he says, the last year disappearing
from his brow. It’s only
now that I’ll
remember, I remember
remembering; and that
I love him, too;
while I could
I did.
***
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