POETRY
Fatherhood and the Circle of Life
Praying that I wounded less this turn of the circle
My son is turning forty-four this spring. He is a man who makes me proud of being a father. I am not sure what it is that binds a father to his son or vice-versa. It doesn’t really matter, the why. What matters is that I got to be his father.
I am one of the fortunate fathers as my son is still active in my life though we live in different provinces in Canada. I travel to see him, and he travels to see me. We both share our lives in between these face-to-face visits. This poem is for him.
A baby in his arms a boy child, his only son.
A father is trapped in repetitive cycles, generational with inherited sins of the fathers and grandfathers before him.
The boy was born in the spring a time of hope a time for renewal
Perhaps the wheel of Samsara has turned for its last time with the birth of this boy.
Taking ownership of shadows emerging from a dim past, carrying unfinished business unlived dreams of ancestors haunting those shadows
A father claims his own unfinished business his own unlived dreams, exposing the shadows with the hope his son’s load is diminished.
And now, the son is a father now wrestling with generational shadows yet to be released.
~ a Canadian poet ~
I want to thank Martin Morrison for publishing this poem at Bouncin and Behavin Poems. I encourage you to check out the publication and the poets and their poetry to be found there.