I Wish I'd Said It More

You'd just nod from the porch That was your whole speech You checked my oil every time I left Tapped the hood twice — that meant drive safe You'd slip a twenty in my coat "For gas," you'd grunt, and clear your throat Men like you fixed things instead of saying them The saying part stayed in the toolbox then I learned your language late Now I'm fluent, and you can't hear I love you, Dad — I wish I'd said it more Not just mumbled at the door You showed it in a thousand silent ways Now I'm shouting it too late But maybe late still counts for something true So here it is, all of it: I love you I wish I'd said it more Your handshake was a paragraph Your "call your mother" was an "I miss you" wearing camouflage At the hospital you squeezed my hand Twice — like the hood of the car — and I finally understand You were saying it the whole way through I just never said it back to you I learned your language late Now I'm fluent, and you can't hear I love you, Dad — I wish I'd said it more Not just mumbled at the door You showed it in a thousand silent ways Now I'm shouting it too late But maybe late still counts for something true So here it is, all of it: I love you I wish I'd said it more Last night my boy left for the coast I checked his oil, tapped the hood Then I caught myself — your ghost — And I said it out loud, clear and slow He looked at me the way I'd look at you Dad, the chain breaks here. You'd want it to I love you, Dad — I say it now for both of us Out loud, no camouflage, no fuss You showed it in a thousand silent ways I carry every one of those days And if you're listening somewhere down the road Here it is, all of it: I love you Consider it finally told Two taps on the hood Drive safe, old man I understood