Before cell phones, email, tweets,
I remember conversation,
the back-and-forth of it:
how my father drove across Europe
without even the radio on,
hours unrolling behind us
filled with debate, questions;
his unfailing delight
in hearing me recite
four lines of a poem by Robert Frost,
lines that he loved
but couldn't remember;
even our silences communal.
(First published in Uppagus)