By Kim Farrar

Because he called me numbnut
            now no one calls me numbnut
Because in therapy I learned the word infantilize
            and stopped asking him if he was all right
Because I want to recite the titles of his paperbacks instead
             Dune       Silent Spring       Slaughterhouse-Five
Because he showed me how to give the finger when I was six
             and then I showed Mom
Because I listened to him curse in the bathroom
             after Dad buzz-cut his hair
Because at 54 he could still bruise the same spot
             with a knuckle-punch
Because we discussed the etymology of kerfuffle
             but never mentioned emphysema
Because the last time he lit a Marlboro to rest
             I joined him
Because he taught me Sudoku
             but said he couldn’t help with counting to ten
Because they took him away in a midnight body bag
Because he could pinch open the beak of a baby robin
             to feed it drops of milk
Because he once touched me and I cooperated
Because to wreck cars, to drive drunk, was a form of apology
             for being a disappointing son
Because he comforted my worry that his tetras were bored
             They have no memory, numbnut,
             each swim back is a new ocean
             and then I envied them
Because his longest relationship was with a club-footed lovebird
Because I’d ask about the impossible physics
             of the hummingbird’s flight to spin the conversation
             away from troubles
Because he said I couldn’t get good at Sudoku
             because he had to beat me at something
Because he drove me around the city
             to point out the cement he’d poured,
             the flagpole at the post office, the Kroger’s sidewalk
Because he said the one thing he liked about the job
             was leaving something permanent
Because his ashes are in a box and I worry about moisture
Because our last day together at Newport Aquarium
             we watched sharks swimming overhead
Because he would withdraw for months
             but I left messages anyway
Because he loved my dream of him

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Kim Farrar is the author of two chapbooks published by Finishing Line Press: The Familiar and The Brief Clear. She has published in Alaska Quarterly Review, Chicago Quarterly Review, Salamander, and Flash Fiction Magazine. Her essays have been published in Illness & Grace, Voices of Autism, and Reflections. Her poetry manuscript, Calamities of the Natural World, was a semi-finalist in the 2021 Grayson Books Poetry Contest. She is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee.  

Originally appeared in NOR 20.