The Oldest Son Leaves for Nagoya

Surprisingly tall, he looks down toward 
His six-inch shorter father 
And shifts his feet, anxious 
For the moment of departure, awkward in uncertainty
Caught between manhood and his mother’s arms 
Clinging to him more as minutes slip past 
Like gnats on a summer evening. 

Firstborn, he seems built of putty from 
The infant mold we have in picture after picture, 
Grinning toothless grins, staggering first steps, 
Drooling at his mother’s breast. 

He sketched away hours like an engineer 
Designing vast projects, attracted admirers 
Who forgave him his white skin. His smooth, 
Long stroke smacked line drives to left and center 
And his extended fingers stretched for rebounds 
High above the rim. 

Now from nowhere a young woman, pretty, lithe 
And five-foot-ten glides to his side, reminding 
Me of my own place in an endless line 
Stretching past tragedies of moment 
Converging towards infinity. 

So we watch him after hugs and tears 
And his wan wave as he ducks into the tunnel 
Leading away through the night outside 
Into the dark mystery of the future. 

On the long drive home we speak reassuringly 
Between deep chasms of silence.