Love Letter from Inside Fatherhood by Fritz Ward

Inside the trap, I spend weeks
remodeling the haven you’ll haunt.

Not for the joy of it,
but for the wonder

that keeps snapping
my neck.

Come December,
there’s a morning

when the sun slathers
the bare trees in saffron

and I hold you
more delicately

than I’ve ever held myself.

See how we’ve risen
before the moon has fallen?

See how we’ve nested and itched?

The boringness of it all
has infected us with wonder,

with want, with why?

And yet all of it—the blood
vocabulary, the fibroid angel,

the cries echoing
from birth and back—

all of it just beyond
our understanding—

our stranding.

But the truth
I don’t want

to tell you
is that you matter

more, then less,
then more—

and all of this
is breakable

and already
broken.

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