My Father’s Voice

I sing with my father’s voice

Somewhere between tenor and alto

In the space between old and young

And like a closed electrical loop it echoes

From my mouth to my vibrating eardrums

I write with my father’s hand

Scribing his poetry and prose

Descriptions of his passion and his loss

And my blocks are copies of his

When my mind makes my hand stop

I love with my father’s heart

From uncertainty to conviction

Then around the loop again

His failures and transgressions I emulate

When lovers turn into friends

I draw these parallels with relative ease

I suppose it’s because I am male

And he, quite obviously, is too

But, Mom, you have to know I realize

That all I am I get from you