i used to look at
my father
sometimes and
wonder what he
really thought of
this strange,
curious daughter
of his. he always
said he wished
he could have
spent more time
with me -- (i
never understood
what for). instead,
he used up half
his adult life
waiting in airports
with names he
was told never
to repeat again
-- just glad to
be getting out
alive. rejoicing.
lately i've
been thinking
maybe that's
what i learned
from him -- how
to wait, how
to be patient --
and this sad,
this stange
kind of
effervescent,
almost
triumphant,
joy.
