The truth is, I wasn’t much of a father. When my son told me last month that he no longer identified as a male, I assumed I was to “blame.”
On the front porch, alone, I think of refilling my glass while imagining that I can see the seam between dusk and darkness. Fireflies send their light to the moon.
I get up. In the seam between past and present, regrets hover like ghosts.