when I was seven and hadn't learned how to
stumble over my own mind
summertime was better by virtue of being long ago of course
still, things were different,
my parents weren't yet a
nuisance
I was granted
four months of
different altitude and air
and
Paul the giant started calling me
Spike.
Of course it only made me angry at the time.
I wish I had understood
how interesting he was
and
how much he loved all of us.
That's Paul's description, that's it,
he grabbed hold of the level of himself that understands
young thought
and perfected it. So he taught
high school for
thirty years,
and was a good father three times over, helped build wonderful women,
and eventually made me proud to be his
god-daughter.
Three years ago I drove a thousand miles to see him
and I didn't call until I was down the road from his house.
Paul put a giant arm around me,
took me inside for
chowder and slightly smashed
petit fours and a
picture window with
snow and deer on the other side of it.
"Watch close, they'll come out,
all you have to do is
wait,"
he said, understanding their
habits from the start.