Tying my shoelace and I think of you. My memories are blurred
and jumbled, and sometimes I don’t know if some are real,
or just dreamt up, or half real and half dreamt up, but I remember this one,
and it’s real, and in remembering anew, just now,
I’m hit by the realisation
that this is the last distinct memory I have of you fathering me in learning something new.
In the upstairs bathroom of your mothers house, soon to be my home, unknown to us both.
Tying my shoelace, thinking of you.
© Daniel Breslin