His Grave

By David Kherdian

I imagine visiting my father's grave
with my cousin Chuck, who once
guided me there, maybe when I was
in my 40s, half a lifetime ago,
to realize only now the importance
of that visit back then,
speaking to the stone above him,
as I might still if I could visit him again,
realizing only now the importance of
some acts, that cannot be explained,
whose meanings lie silently within us,
wanting now just to be a little closer to him
in this way, or any other way that returns
me to his love, that I was ever too young
to understand, but that I can feel now
from wanting to return his love with my own,
joined together now in silence
with nothing for my hands to hold
that I grasp with my pencil,
that like my father, cannot grasp back.