The poem:
Ides of March
the absentee father
calls to talk
— Yvette Nicole Kolodji
The Heron’s Nest, Volume XXIII, Number 1: March
My comment:
RESPONSE BY THE ABSENTEE FATHER
It’s the Ides of March today. That’s what the calendar says. Wind’s cold, real sharp. Got that feelin’ like the sky knows somethin’ you don’t. I been sittin’ on this bench with my old banjo, watchin’ folks pass by, thinkin’ ‘bout my boy. Ain’t seen him in—Lord, I couldn’t even tell you how long. Too long. Long enough for him to grow up without me.
Back when he was little, I was gone more than I was around. Chasin’ music, runnin’ from myself. Playin’ gigs for gas money and pride, sleepin’ in truck beds, drinkin’ too much. Told myself I’d come back with stories. Told myself I was doin’ it for him. But the truth is, I was scared. I didn’t know how to be someone’s daddy. Still don’t.
Today I held the phone in my hand for near an hour before I hit dial. My fingers was shakin’, and that ain’t just from the arthritis. “Hey son,” I said, “it’s me.” Just like that. No speeches. No excuses. My voice cracked halfway through, like the string I broke on the third fret this mornin’. I ain’t callin’ to fix it all. I ain’t askin’ to be let back in. I just wanted him to know I’m still here. That I think about him. That I’m sorry—for all of it.
Link to the complete feature:
Essays, Art and Plays by Dan 
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