I Want You To Know

After reading Pablo Neruda's If You Forget Me

I want you to know that the mountain is a miracle,
that the moon is made of creamy crystal, and the raging river
is made for your journey. I want you to know
your great-grandmother loved you.
I want you to know
to eat soup in winter, turn off the stove when you’re done,
and prepare cucumbers with lemon and sea salt in summer.
I want you to revel in learning,
know how to play Chinese Checkers,
to call home, take your cap off in a restaurant,
and talk to your brother and sister whenever you can.
I want you to know I’m afraid every time the phone rings,
happy when it does.
I want you to know spring always surprises, never deceives,
that fall sheds summer heat, and winter comes hard.
I want you to reach for your beloved when you need her,
when she needs you, know how to give and be given to.
I want you to know the bigness of the Montana sky, to hear the singing of the stars.
I want you to notice the clacking of the train along the Italian coast,
that snow becomes dew on your cheeks,
and that the fragrance of orange blossoms is fleeting.
You already know broken bones and the deeper pain of breaking inside.
You know how to mend.
Know it is good to smile. Remember, forget, remember.
I have known you for ages, know you know me.
You have been a man since the day you were born.
I cannot tell you what I mean when I tell you that I love you,
but I want you to know.

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