The soft satellite of my father’s ear falls
toward his shoulder.
His chin floats up from his clavicle.
The giant sleeps.
When some breathing thing is vulnerable,
I understand the impulse to crush.
I’m inclined to pierce the softness.
Tenderness is the impulse to protect
what you know you could destroy.
This is the gift of my father’s neck.
Cover Art by Stephanie Broussard