GERRYMANDERING

I looked away for only a moment.

When I turned back you were gerrymandering

your brother’s face with a PlayMobile.

I yanked you away and immediately

and regretted my violence. The lines of your face,

eyes glossing, read that my love for you

had changed: it hasn’t.

This has been going on since his newness

wore off. You measure and weigh, eyes

narrow—like a cat ready to pounce—

Exploring boundaries is part of childhood.

It is how you learn. But do you have to learn

at your brothers expense?

He arrived and I protect him from your explorations.

This doesn’t mean I’ve taken sides.

We are both redefining our places.

You are lucky–place assured even if you don’t see it.

He’ll always have a shadow

of a memory telling him you are the older, wiser

child, the power and justice of home.

And when he is older and on the playground—

where all the children gerrymander each other

it will be your shadow that he leans on to survive.

My place is not so clear. Every day it changes.

Every choice I make: present or absent, anxious

or brave, constant or drifting—what father am I?