Dangerous men shaped me when I was young,
they taught me to shovel snow in winter
without wearing a hat, coat, or gloves.
And they ran after me in the summer,
tearing off my swimsuit, then dragging me
to the gravel road, naked. The lessons
were too innumerable and severe
to forget now that I’ve become a man.
Sometimes I remember them in my dreams
and cradle their graying heads in my arms
to demonstrate the value of weeping,
as my lips separate like an old scar
to reveal a wound deeper than their own,
screaming into the darkness of my homes.