When My Father Calls

He never says hello,

only my name,

as if to check

the word still fits me

the way it used to.

We talk about the weather

for longer than the weather

deserves —

it is our agreed-upon door

into the room

we actually want to enter.

By the fourth minute

we have stopped performing ease

and started, carefully,

handing each other

the actual week.

He says take care of yourself

the way other men say

I love you,

and I have learned, finally,

to hear it correctly.