The One Time
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I saw him cry exactly once—
the day they carried his father out,
and in that single unguarded moment
I understood what he was all about.
He was made of the same material as grief,
as love, as missing, as the human thing—
the strength he wore was not the absence of feeling
but the discipline of managing.
Seeing him cry did not make him smaller—
it made him larger, suddenly, to me—
the man behind the strength was a man entire,
and that was who I wanted most to be.
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I saw him cry exactly once—
the day they carried his father out,
and in that single unguarded moment
I understood what he was all about.
He was made of the same material as grief,
as love, as missing, as the human thing—
the strength he wore was not the absence of feeling
but the discipline of managing.
Seeing him cry did not make him smaller—
it made him larger, suddenly, to me—
the man behind the strength was a man entire,
and that was who I wanted most to be.
