A Celebration of Cigars, of Daniel

the one on the left i’ve known
for many years, he in his plaid shorts,
t-shirt culled from racks of clothing at
Nordstrom rack, having applied the same
perseverance to this educational journey
as when he put
away his toys for nine months upon
arrival of his baby sister, preferring
to focus his energy on extensive tantrums
three times a day,
this one who emailed
me from Tangiers to let me know he was on
his way to Senegal, alone, leaving now,
and who arrived there by foot, bus,
train eventually, to the tremendous relief on this side.
this one who pulled out in front of the
pack of racers, calling out, “Hi Mom!”
only to disappear into the pack on the
next lap, and to drop out of the race by
the next, happy.
this one, who celebrates with the
other graduates, this one,
this young man,
my son.