By Katherine Soniat
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Extra info for A shared life: poems
Fathers and sons sum each other up, pacing two strides apart, then three. Parting. <><><><><><><><><><><><> In the corner of this old desk drawer, I find a photograph of my father's forgotten father, two men with the same eyes. One harmless now, colorless as leaf mold: this man he refused to speak of eyes me with familiar austerity. Cold my fathering weather. Page 61 <><><><><><><><><><><><> A man hesitates in a field, reluctant to go farther than what he knows. In the starlight he senses something he never could get to, and murmurs another September, just what we all need.
Page 74 Daughter A herd of cows stare from the locust grove, and I recall you saying how at first that man tried to make fuzzy sense of her as a deer some warm, dumb animal lifted from the highway, riding his fender toward death the possibility of the antlers being a bike's handlebars as remote as his beery, midnight world. You've gone back and back to that pebbled side of the road, looking for what you cannot say. To him, just deer until her hair or arm flashed wildly, his headlights torching the she of it.
This is the roadway that winds to the white hallway where the hands on one man hold the hands of another to the hands of a clock. Page 36 A Square in Mozambique These are the children that no one went looking for. Remember me. This is the village square used for reunions of the lost, where every look of recognition is rewarded with a kit: clothes, food, a hoe, and a bag of seed. A dowry to grow human on, or perhaps even to grow into the clerk or driver that young Moneeka says he wants one day to be.