This morning, I decided to call my dad.
He has been alone at home since Mom died,
At the beginning of the year,
And I wanted to ask how he was.
He answered the phone immediately.
We chatted for a while, and he said that the kids don’t come to visit as much.
Because they are busy.
I thought about this for a moment and looked around the room.
Everything seemed normal,
But something about my dad’s voice
Was different.
Was this the quality of the line,
I asked myself,
Or was it some artificial intelligence program,
That was causing the phone to mock me?
Right then, as I was listening,
And thinking,
I remembered that Dad passed away sixteen years
Before Mom.
Now his voice sounded much different.
There was no doubt this was something artificial,
I decided.
That,
Or that I was dreaming again.
I looked at the phone,
Looked around again,
And then woke up.
I lay quietly for a moment,
Swallowing up the remnants of the experience.
Oh well,
I took a deep breath,
At least this way, I could hear him occasionally
And know
That he was okay.

In my youth,
I used to run ahead,
Often,
In pursuit of myself,
To hurry, to accomplish, to do.
To succeed.
But,
True successes did not come,
Until I learned,
To slow down a bit,
To measure my steps,
To study,
To prepare,
With reason,
With a peaceful soul,
So as to be able,
To extract from myself,
And from my talent,
The best that can possibly be drawn,
Of them.