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I didn’t catch this salmon— Didn’t stand on the ladder With spear and net, and snare it Like my ancestors did For millennia. I bought this holy Fish at the supermarket. I cook it on the stovetop Along with asparagus. I’m feeding my family. This doesn’t feel as magical As it should. Then again, I doubt my ancestors believed That every moment Was magical. Today, I sing For all those moments When one of my ancestors Was asked what they thought Of some current event And all they did was shrug. O, the beautiful shrug. O, the lift of shoulders Toward the sky. O, the tilt Of head to left or right. O, the slightly curled lip And raised eyebrows. O, the joy of abstaining. O, the joy of dispassion. O, the joy of removing yourself From the equation. O, the joy Of eating a simple dinner Of salmon and asparagus With the ones you love the most. A dinner where nobody said Anything of note. A dinner Where nobody campaigned For your vote. A dinner where You cleaned the table, loaded The dishwasher, kissed your wife, Then, loving and loved, fell asleep Beneath the reading light.
A Father’s true reward. A safe and well fed family, closing a day in the warmth of love. There is no greater glory. Happy Father’s Day to you, Sherman with my eternal thanks for your words. You are a light.
This is beautiful and it is in a special genre, the poetry of the mundane --
the magic of ordinary things. Someone said "Poetry is the art of paying attention" and love was described in the same way. Your love for both family and salmon and the supreme act of bringing them together in the most modest setting and framing them with such tenderness and beauty is an act of both love and poetry.