when you visited me in college for the first time
you convinced me that i wanted some groceries
probably because we needed to spend time together
probably because it was the least you could do
to serve me in the short weekend we had
to make up for all this time i’d been away.
i said, sure, i could really use some apples, and
you jumped like you had done many times before
at the chance to give me everything you could
which meant that selecting seven apples
became an extravagant reviewing process
of picking the perfect fruit for your daughter
to tell her how much you missed her.
This one has a bruise, and also,
I wish I could make dinner for you after school.
Do you see? It’s not as red as it could be.
Do you see? I’m even missing your dirty laundry.
dad, i wish i had the courage to tell you
that the way you seized every apple
spun it around
stared at it with inquisitive eyes
squeezed it between questioning fingers
told me more about your love than the words you didn’t say.