My Son Wants to Know Who His Biological Father Is

My Son Wants to Know Who His Biological Father Is
by Blas Falconer

My son wants to know
his name. What does he look like? What does
he like? My son swims
four days a week. When my son swims
underwater, he glides
between strokes. When he glides underwater, he is
an arrow aimed
at a wall. Four days a week, his coach says,
Count—1…2…—before
coming up for air.
My father had blue eyes, blonde hair,
though mine are brown.
My father could not speak
Spanish and wondered, How can you love
another man? We rarely touched.
When my son
is counting, I count
with him. I say, I am
your father, too. 1…2…

About this Poem

“One day I was listening to my son’s swim coach and her feedback on his breaststroke, how he couldn’t muscle his way across the pool, how stillness and patience were important components of good technique. To encourage this, she had him count while his head was under the water, and it seemed like good advice for a lot of things, bearing what troubles you, for example, or writing a poem that is particularly challenging.”
—Blas Falconer