the warning shot

my uncle gave me the news, later
telling my aunt that I must have been
in shock, but he simply misunderstood
my calm.

a life lived in amazement at
the tragedies that don't happen--
his call I always expect, always
know is coming.

a hurried drive to a Joplin ICU,
a jolt, I'll admit,
seeing my father hooked to tubes
and monitors, but I held on to my
inherited ability to laugh when reality
intrudes.

we are not demonstrative folks,
so when he reached a needle and
tape covered hand to touch my own,
I knew he'd had a dose of fear along with
the nitro.

a handsome cardiologist with
salt and pepper hair seemed quite accustomed
to saving lives--giving us good news
and hope--the best consult of his day.

the trip that began at that ICU
ended on the shores
of Grand Lake, dad's most current
girlfriend providing comfort while
he watched his grandson's first encounter
with a handful of territorial geese.

dad went indoors, leaving us to throw
stones and wait for sunset. overhead,
the cormorants flew silently in small flocks
looking for a place to bed down for the night.

the boy kept pointing at the half-moon.

when we could no longer see the sun,
we went back to the house. dad
was resting on the sofa, maybe a little more serious,
a little more human, and I finally surrendered
a few hidden tears.

tomorrow is thanksgiving. I'll spend
it alone with the boy, but despite the familiar
ache over a family split in two,
I am more grateful than I've ever been
for luck and the gift of a strong heart.