That being said, almost the instant I graduated, I stopped writing. I don't know if the lack of looming deadlines was honestly THAT connected to my creative process, but whatever the case, it's been rare for me to actually open Word or pick up my Moleskine and get out something I'm at least a little proud of.
Luckily, my closest friend from college gets on my case every now and then and encourages me to write. A few weeks ago, I finally bit the coffee-fueled bullet and got this out. It's not much and it's definitely not my favorite, but it's something. And it's out there now, so it feels good.
First Love
The first love
I had was not
romantic love.
The first love
I had was for the comedy
my father loved.
I’d return from delighted
evenings in neighbors’ yards
and ask dad for a tuna sandwich.
He’d laugh, turn his eyes Belushi-black
and yell “Cheeseburger!”
The darkness behind Belushi’s humor
was irrelevant.
The weakness and addictions
my dad kept hidden
didn’t matter.
What mattered was the grin
that spread across my dad’s
time-worn face
as he kicked his legs,
a homage to Steve’s Happy Feet.
I laughed, sure, at the jokes
that he told (or rather, stole
from his comedy heroes).
But I laughed more at the joy
that wove
through our house. My dad
was happy and that made me
happy.
He could have quoted
the greatest comedian alive
(he often did),
and I wouldn’t have cared,
so long as I caught
his smile,
the one I mirror
when I watch SNL today.
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