Blackout

I couldn’t tell you what it feels like

Because it feels like nothing;

Like a gap, a dip, a cavern;

An expansive hole you’d toss

Rocks down, just to hear them fall.

But they never really fall, rocks;

Not in this hole. No blackout

Reminds me of the one before,

And the pebbles, like memory,

Are lost each time, forever.

I try to think back to before—

Remember what it was like—

Mom says we used to fish.

Together. Can you believe that?

I remember once standing,

Waiting for you to come home

From work. You passed me by

Without a glance. I don’t remember

Fishing, though. I don’t remember

Ever going fishing with you.

That’s what dads do, isn’t it?

You take your son fishing.

You take him to a lake or stream

Show him to cast a line and reel

Slow, then fast. The doctor used

An analogy; said I should cast

Into the pit, and try to reel memories

Close. Like a fish. The doctor

Took me fishing, Dad. Are you sure

You took me with you?

I try. I really do, Dad. Since that

First blackout onward, I try to fake it

At least. I half-imagine your boots

Filling with water when you stand

In the stream, casting line overhead.

But there was no stream and you

Hate fishing. You told me so yourself.

Did I misremember this, or the other?

It’s so hard to tell, since you left,

And Mom is the only one who can say.

I really wish you had stayed.

Mom would’ve liked that so much,

Even if we didn’t go fishing.

I’ve been trying, Dad, to recall;

I see denim overalls and a mountain-

Man beard and maybe I can smell

Wood smoke. No way to tell

If these are real memories

Or memories I’ve reeled

From someone else’s stream.

The hole is deep, Dad. It’s not

Something I expect you to fill—

Not that I think you could.

It’s hard to fish with a broken son,

I hear. I wish you had stayed, but

Since you didn’t, I’ll just fish alone.

I don’t expect you to return.

I’ll cast my line in the pit to fish.

Maybe I’ll drop a penny wish

Down the well—if I remember.