That summer when we were
the same height, my son and I,
standing toe to toe, eye to eye.
Our voices met for a moment,
his dropping, stopping to rest
in vibration with mine.
He was 14, I was 41.
Our dyslexic ages,
coordinates plotted on a graph,
Line X intersected Line Y
once that lifetime,
then continued on,
sharp arrows pointed
away from each other
hurrying to separate infinities.

Published in Pith

Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash