Legacies

My son and grandson gifted me with a smile

My son and his family are home for a visit. I’m two years clean and sober, but regrets and resentments still cling to our bones like the ice encasing branches in the yard.

Son and grandson wrestle on the living room rug. I remember the years before alcohol and drugs, before the bare branches bowed with the heaviness of snow and ice.

A pint-sized pugilist stared me down with adoration, pretend gloves up, balanced stance, feet bouncing on the wire springs of youth, fundamentals giving way to a bull rush, head down, goring my chest with the horns of a grin.

I calibrated my strength to keep him in the fight, tangle of legs and arms, like wildflowers laced together in a field.

Taylor rode bareback on my love, my joy bucking like a bronco, flinging my boy airborne to a cushioned landing on pillows. We lay on our backs, side by side, dream beside dream, cackling at the gods.

My son lets himself be pinned by his boy. They both glance at me and gift me with a smile broad as my legacy.