Chris Offutt - The Same River Twice page 188 lyrics

The River is high from flood to the north. Rita and I are always sleepy. Six weeks after the birth, our doctor sanctioned making love, but our son interrupted us the first few times. It seemed fitting somehow and I didn't mind the halt. I was worried that Rita would feel different to me, that birth had transformed her pa**age. Her breasts had already become utilitarian, functioning independent of aesthetics. Making love to a maiden is one thing, to a mother quite another. When our son slept, Rita and I molded together, pressing as much flesh against each other as possible. My fears shed as easily as autumn leaves in rain. Nothing had changed except everything. I come to a downed tree and remove the pack containing my son. The pack has an aluminum bar that folds forward so it can stand alone. It is bigger than him and he slumps sideways, listing like a trawler. I straighten him he slides the other way. No matter how I try, he cannot sit straight, but his eyes the color of mine never leave my face. I sit cross-legged before him. The woods are heavy around us. The equinox signals the beginning of life and crop, of nesting birds and mating animals. I want to explain everything. I want to tell him what to do, and more important, what not to do. I give him a leaf which he calmly tastes. He can't learn from my mistakes, only from his own. I think of all the things I want to tell him, and say nothing. According to my father, I come from a long line of bad fathers, improving with each generation. The birth of my son has made me a middleman, nearer to d**h and to life, closer to my father. With courage and work, my son will become an adult one day. Amid the trees and birds, I realize that despite the obstacles I set myself, I have somehow become one myself.