victor

my father’s volume stretches taller than his height

and wider than his stance

his presence in a room is felt eons longer than his exit

deeper than willow tree roots

when he is driving and driving

we cut across traffic

he moves like a lightning bolt

brightens overcast days

strikes hope into the nighttime

we pierce the streets with energy so infectious

our tires screech under the weight of it

when he is speaking and moving

hands fly like leaves upset by a breeze 

when he is laughing and laughing

one smack against his thigh

we drive with no destination

and still find our way home

my father’s volume surpasses the wingspan of his limbs

and is almost as immense as his heart