Recollections

The park bench was warm
where I sat

no longer a child --
approaching
puberty
and bold with my questions.

My father on the other
side of the bench

weathered from life
not so good
since the war of ’39-45
unaware of the needs
for a young boy at the time
of his return.

I stoked his confusion
with arrows of penetration –

Why did you
have to go away four years?
and the worst of my intentions,
Did you even
think of your first son?

A measure of time caused
him to frown, then deliberate –
When your heart
captures understanding, a reply

then he dissolved into
an echo of mist.

I soon joined him
awakening from the dream
of my desires.

© Richard L. Provencher