The Long Way to Forgiving My Father

He taught me how to check the oilby never once explaining why,just handing me the rag and waitingfor me to ruin it myself.

I used to think that was the whole of him —withheld instructions, a doorwayhe stood in without stepping through.

It took me twenty years to noticehe was teaching me the only wayhe'd ever learned a thing himself:by getting it wrong first, alone,with someone standing near enough to watch.

I am still angry about the rag.I have stopped being angry about the man.