my dad just gave Ollie a fist bump and said

You know what you are, Ollie?

You’re a hundred percent YOU.

Rap Song

Make me a rhyme, little man.

First day of school, first grade,

Beastie Boys blasting from the car radio.

We’re driving home, me with my lunch

box open on my lap cuz my after-school snack was always

what I didn’t eat at school—grapes, carrot sticks,

apples and peanut butter, whatever,

I dug it out, sitting in the back seat of my dad’s car.

September sun shining in on us,

Mama home or maybe visiting the grandmas, so much

I don’t remember. So many places where there’s white

space where memory should be, and some days I wonder

if my own mind is going like my dad’s. But that year,

he was still Daddy. Still playing ball and driving me from school

whenever he was home.

Make me a rhyme, little man, my daddy said, glancing

through the rearview at me with my mouth full

but my head moving to the Beastie Boys.

And then I must have swallowed. Must have said

My name is Zachariah

and I’m on fire.

Can’t go no higher

than Zachariah.

You got skills, son, my dad said.

Yeah, I said back.

Yo

I know

I think I got ’em from you.

Cuz you’re Zachariah too!

Unbelievable

The first time my dad heard one of my songs, he asked

Who wrote that?

We were in the kitchen and it was pizza night with

extra cheese, extra sausage and lots of olives.

I was singing because of that.

And I was singing because it was summer

and because the pizza smelled so good and the whole

day was only for us—no coaches calling,

no practice, no game to study, no fans

just me and my daddy—Mama in Arizona

visiting the grandmas. So it was

just us men and our pizza and all the rest

of the takeout we were planning to have

with Mama gone.

So I was singing about all of it—the summer,

our bright yellow kitchen, the good food

and me and my daddy alone

together.

I don’t remember how old I was, but

I remember my daddy’s smile.

You wrote that?

And me with a slice almost to my mouth, stopping

and saying Yep, it was all made up by me.

Then going back to singing, a song

about pizza and summertime,

a song about all the good things

already here

and the good things coming too.

On My Daddy’s Shoulders

I was on my daddy’s shoulders when

crowds gathered around us

pushing autograph books, T-shirts and

scraps of paper into his hands.

I was on my daddy’s shoulders when

a band marched through Maplewood

playing a song someone wrote

about the speed in his step

and the power in his hands.

I was on my daddy’s shoulders when