When I see him, first time in a decade,
at first seeing is all we do: both of us
grayer, fatter, flawed, but smiling
at the lands we’ve crossed & come to.
If only when he spoke he weren’t so loud,
he might not sound like some
hell-singing evangelist,
with me the congregation sleeping,
unwilling to be roused by prophecy,
mystery, shouts. It might be ten more years
before I crawl toward him next,
if both of us live so long &
his promised rapture won’t occur,
which, of course, it never does,
not once despite the divinations
of so many fathers just like him.
Ace Boggess is the author of two books of poetry: The Prisoners (Brick Road, 2014) and The Beautiful Girl Whose Wish Was Not Fulfilled (Highwire, 2003). His novel, A Song Without a Melody, is forthcoming from Hyperborea Publishing. His writing has appeared in Harvard Review, Mid-American Review, RATTLE, River Styx, North Dakota Quarterly, and many other journals. He lives in Charleston, West Virginia.