My boys look at me. At home, my dad is probably sitting at the window

or in his room asleep. The new medicine he’s on makes him tired and groggy.

He walks like an old man now, his head down mostly,

his feet dragging.

I toss the ball to Everett. Keep it, I say. It was my dad’s.

Everett’s eyes get wide. This is Zachariah 44’s ball?

I nod.

For real?

For real.

Daniel gives me a look like You crazy? But I ignore it.

Good luck, bruh, I say.

And the good luck means so many things

I don’t know how to say.

So many things I wish my daddy could still understand.

Thank you so much, Everett says, looking at the ball like

it’s the best present

anyone’s ever given him.

Then he waves goodbye to us, jogging off again,

only this time a little faster.

And we go back to slipping and sliding on the leaves,

trying to see who can slide the farthest

without falling.

The Partridge Family

There was this song you used to always sing, Daddy,

from when you were a little boy and you watched

a show called The Partridge Family.

Whenever you told me about it, I thought about birds,

a whole show about them.

Nah, nah, little man, you said. Show was about a family

and they all sang together. And they had

this big crazy-colored bus that

they took out on the road. And something always

happened. Not a bad something. Just a something.

Then you’d start singing a song from the show that went

I think I love you.

I think I love you!

You said our town, Maplewood, for some reason

reminded you of that show.

So many trees up and down the block.

Linden and maple and oak and pine.

You said, I used to know all the names for all of them.

I just stared at them, listening to your voice.

Looked up to see you standing above me

with your eyes closed

and such a huge smile on your face.

You told me Those were the good old days, little man.

You in front of your TV screen just singing along.

I asked you if that was before the pigskin dreams.

Nah, little man, you said. The pigskin dreams were

always there.

I know I love you, Daddy.

I know I love you.

It’s All Gonna Be Right in the Morning

The crash comes late in the night.

I’m half asleep when I hear the glass,

shattering once, then again as it’s falling.

I hear my mother screaming and run to their room,

where my daddy is standing at the window, his arm through it,

and cold air blowing in.

And then the sound of Mama on the phone

and, somewhere far away, a siren coming closer

all of it slow motion as my daddy turns,

holds his cut hand