are father

He’d built a
family, or at least
he thought
he’d
done that, but now and then he’s not so sure, so
he calls
or e-mails,
or texts
or anything to catch
a
word, to catch
a voice,
to connect, again, to reconnect, again,
and
to make it seem,
again, whole. He understands
that
things change, that
families spread
out
and
about, that they begin to expand in their
own
directions,
with their
own directions,
and around their own connections, but on days when
he feels
the sting of it being gone,
or of not being
right there,
he needs reminders and he
wonders
if they know
of
his
insecurity, which embarrasses
him,
of course, that insecurity, if it really is that, for he thinks,
too,
that maybe it’s
just
loneliness.
And he doesn’t
want
them
to know that – that he’s
lonely – for they have their
own
things
and worries
and concerns
and stuff – their own families, or at least lives.
Theirs.
Not his.