Happy Father’s Day

 Laurie Kuntz 

 

 

 By Laurie Kuntz

It is my pleasure to share through poems and photos the story of the father-son love between my husband, Steven DeBonis and our son, Noah DeBonis. Noah was born two and a half months prematurely and came into the world on Steven's birthday. They share the same birthday and that gives them a very secure common bond. We named him Noah as he came into the world so early and needed a survivor's name. That was 37 years ago, and both Noah and Steve share a strong, happy, healthy and loving partnership. 


Waking Life

Unearthing a photo, father and son
covered  in winter wraps on a faded couch-- 
eyelids fluttering in sync,
breath like a tap dancer stamping  a  beat,
falling asleep in the midst of a movie or book--

dozing before the hero had yet to arrive, 
perhaps they dream of saving the damsel, 
perhaps they snore away the dragons.

They will rouse laughing
at how they fell in a twisted arm lock, 
and fit in the sprawl of pillows--
a  cushion for their waking lives.

 

 

In That Moment

For Steven, forever

when so entangled in our lives,
we just know,   
when we witness wonder--
 times  as simple and common as standing 
behind a child in the grocery,
who cajoles her mother
to allow a lollipop, 
and flashes a victorious smile.
 
Our eyes hook
upon what each is thinking--
Three decades ago, we too,
delivered wonder into the world,
the tumult of memory, 
pulls us apart and pushes us together,
locking us in the twine and twig 
that tugs at our history  and  never breaks.

 

 

 

 Palooka

Downstairs battling midday heat 
I hear end of round bells coming
from the TV room overlooking the view 
our house offers: ocean and blue horizons.

 Father and son, now men, 
aging and old,  mesmerized,
not by the sea, tern trills, 
or sailing vessels embracing 
silence and wind, but by chants 
for left hooks, sucker punches,
parrying, pluck and sweat –

How they sit in peace 
and bond over cheers for blood 
and the pummeling of men. 

 

 

“A Heart Needs a Home”
 
An excess of heart,
that is what you said about the poem
I wrote for you.
 
Take the “heart” out,  simply stated,
find another image for the beat of our lives:
 
Two decades ago, a doctor pulled out a syringe,
To draw from our son’s veins---testing
To make sure he was not a carrier of some drastic disease.
 
When, Noah, barely two, saw that needle,
he yelled, Blood,  one of his first words,
 
We did not know where he had learned this,
But our son knew blood by heart,
 
That blood tying us to our shared strangeness and similarities,
blood leading to heart lines---
 
Taking the heart out,
is like forgetting about the cunning rain
on days when all is in bloom.

 

 

 

 

Icarus at 30

Had he lived, what would he be like?
What self imposed labyrinths
would he have to escape?
What if waxy wings and wispy feathers held true
or had he listened more closely, not been taken
by the freedom that befell him in a moment of bliss,
all the advice he could have heeded, 
the many days he would have loved,
but he succumbed to the splendor of wings
before he knew that life could be contained in places
where flight is a choice, rather than a necessity
as the universe gives us so many winged creatures,
and then us, who have feet on fortunate ground.