Walking through Topanga the other day I came across this really cool formation of trees.

Thank you so much to the Zaadzsters who have shared such warm words about the poem I wrote.  We said goodbye to my neighbor this morning.  It was probably one of the most beautiful tributes I've ever attended and so fitting for someone so deserving.

It's amazing that you can live next to someone for 6 years and still only know a fraction of the amazing life they've led.  Richard was like that.  From his ceremony I learned about his childhood in Jamaica and that he liked science fiction.  How, in the world did I not know he liked sci-fi.

I'm not a public speaker but his wife wanted me to read the poem I wrote to honor him.  It took me three times as long to read it but each time I started to fall apart I would turn around and look at the beautiful photos of him with his children and continue.

The ceremony ended with Richard's 3 and 8 year old daughters releasing a flock of doves into the air.  It was so incredible watching those birds take flight and soar over the nearby mountains.

Goodbye, Rick.  You will be missed.

Neighbor

You welcomed us to this valley home.
A daughter clinging to your shoulders
Like Rose, Rachel still wore diapers.

For six years we shared a common wall;
five feet high and made of cinder block.
Hand shakes and calls of, “hey neighbor.”

Summers, I heard you playing with your girls.
Laughter, teases,
the sound of splashing in your pool.

Watering the lawn, the patchwork of greens;
Our girls played under the arc of water.
Serena and Rachel,
Jade and Rose,
Jasmine watching from the side.
Francesca gossiping,
or was that talking,
with Natalie.

Each year, we stayed the same
and our children grew.
From babies to toddlers, walking.
Walking to running.
This year I taught Rose to ride on just two wheels.
Just like Rachel, she said.

To your girls I was the other daddy.
What an honor
to share the title daddy.
We were two men among too many girls.

Your smiles and friendly jokes about wives will be missed
The feigned look of fear we shared for the women
we are lucky to have.

From school, I remember
parallel lines are supposed to go on forever;
never touching, always close by.
But standing on steel tracks
even paired lines find
a point far in the distance where they meet.

How lonely to continue without you.
No more kindred spirit.
No more other, other daddy.
No more fatherly voices from the other side of the wall.
No more lessons in fatherhood.

We shared a common wall;
five feet high and made of cinder block.
A wall but not a barrier.