One Oar Each

That is how we cross

I learned love from a mother who carried every load
So I packed my own suitcase before anyone could go
You learned it from a father who vanished after June
So you make a joke of promises and leave the party soon
Now the river has come over the low bridge by our street
We load the dog and albums in the rescue boat at three
At the rescue boat you hand me one oar, keeping one
No hero and no passenger—two people getting home

I pull when you are tired
You pull when I lose sight
Our histories can differ
To keep this bow upright

One oar each, that is how we cross
No one keeps the power, no one counts the cost
When the current turns us sideways, we do not fight for lead
We face the other shore with one oar each

Pull, breathe
One oar each

At the school gym shelter, I reach first for my phone
The old reflex says disappear before I need a home
You spread our damp photographs across a borrowed sheet
Then hand me one from June—the day my father chose to leave
You never say I am like him; you never make me swear
You ask me to help hang the pictures in the dry night air
I call my brother, tell the truth, and stay till morning tea
Some family is inherited; some is built deliberately

One oar each, that is how we cross
No one keeps the power, no one hides the cost
When the current turns us sideways, we agree on what we need
We face the other shore with one oar each

I thought leaving made me different
From the man who left my name
You said staying is not sinking
When we both can steer the same

One oar each, that is how we cross
Not because we never drift, but because we speak when lost
When the water leaves its mark, we hang the pictures where they breathe
And face the other shore with one oar each

No hero, no one saved
Two hands, one steady way
One oar each