Day Seven. After lunch with my sons today.
Flying through time at 70 mph, you,
my youngest son, ask, Of anyone
who lived, who would you pick
to sit with, have a conversation?
I can’t choose.
Socrates, Jack London, Einstein, Maya
Angelou come to mind. Hemingway.
Isaac Newton, we both agree, or any
of the minds on Cosmos– discuss stars
with Galileo or Carl Sagan. Human
rights with Rosa Parks. Overwhelmed,
we drive on. Later this evening, it lands:
I would talk with family: parents first, then
work back. Aren’t they the ones, all foibles
and faults, bad choices, bigotry, dishonesty,
filled past the brim with errors and meanness;
aren’t they the ones to sit across from,
with their knowledge now of death and life?
Ask them the hard question: What was the most
important thing? And hear the answer ring,
shattered crystal: You. You were my best effort.