(for Dad’s birthday… and Mom, too)

Having no idea if you’re even you anymore,
gone these 21 years, it occurs to me that
if there is still something of you, the him,

there might still be something of she, the her.
And perhaps, upon her more recent
departure from her former form,

she drifted into your neck of the… well,
maybe not woods, but it could be the lake,
since you came together best on

the turquoise boat on cobalt blue water,
both daughters life-jacketed, ready for you
to tow each of them on a single ski,

before each of you took a turn. And as
those daughters remember you on what
would have been your 95th earthly birthday,

we hold out hopeful hearts that you two brilliant
points of light might be orbiting each other like
electrons circling atoms—in this case, us.

We imagine you two having a strong affinity
for one another in your present state, bygones
you carried while in your earth suits begone,

you, the him,
she, the her,
bound by the electrostatic force

better known as love.