my father was a writer

my father was a writer

my son might say

is what I thought

and then wrote on the back of

this mystery’s bookmark

after having written

in our kid journal for him

about how he’s begun kindergarten

and how his art is so good

I’ve had some pieces laminated

and how now wait

isn’t this supposed to be about me

and what I was to the future him

not an infinity of context

that map that only stops

where the kraken those creatures

that fascinated and scared robin

when he was younger

because of their mythical slash real status

are drawn in lieu of the banal truth

the dangerous subaquatic rocks

that hedge every sea of knowledge in