I am sending my son to assist
you next week.
Do you have any children?
Treat him as your own.
Be patient with messy rooms,
odd solar powered gadgets running about.
Does your cook make veggieburgers,
brew Ginger Beer? I will email you the recipes.
Oatmeal cookies are his favorite.
I mailed some this morning for your freezer
as it is hot there.
Enclosed is a cheque to help with your phone bill.
Being a married man yourself, I know you’ll understand.
They are very close.
He tells me he will be winning hearts and minds
so you must keep track of his rifle.
I shall knit a blue sleeve for the barrel,
cross stitch his name.
My best wishes to your family.
Write when you have time because
the television doesn’t always get things straight, and please
let me know, as soon as you can,
what day you will be flying
my son home.
My Daughter’s Voice
Ancestral harmonies soften my solitude.
A sustained note streams into the future,
a continuance, like my sister’s hands.
My daughter paints long nails;
thinks they are her own.
I held her with my grandmother’s arms, close.
She swims out of reach now,
pushes life in front of her.
The hushed beauty, her own song
drifts in. With her new voice,
I braid the long mooring line.