Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Anniversary by Kevin Young


The day will come

when you’ll be dead longer 
than alive—thankfully

not soon. 
There are of course years

long before, without you 
breathing—and your years

without me even 
an idea. Then there are those

infant months, when I knew 
your voice, your bearded

face, not your name— 
at least to speak

it aloud. And in the night, 
father, I cried out

and in the day— 
like now.


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