The subject matter has been floating around for a while, but this is just first crack at it. Thoughts?

He takes his daughter to her first
day in the dorms
and discovers that she’s assigned
to a room across the hall
from the room he had when he was here,
the room where he’d first
spent a whole night in bed with a woman.

He recalls her name.
Her first name was Cindy, and her second name was
Moses. He can recall that when they lay together
his hands nested upon her from behind so perfectly, settling into
the curve of her waist and her hip, and from there it was perfectly positioned to
slide forward and down into
her…and damn it, that’s all he can recall.

Dad? Can you help me move this bed?
His daughter stares at him. Are you here?
Sure, he says. I’m here.
Then he says, before he realizes: Good idea to move the bed. Don’t
want the guys in the next dorm to see what you’re up to in there.
She rolls her eyes in something like shock. DAD!
He smiles sheepishly, and reaches for the headboard rail.

Downstairs, they hug an awkward goodbye, he slips her
an extra fifty bucks. See you next weekend, she says, I’m
coming home for more stuff. He nods,
thinks about what he wishes he could remember,
then catches her by the arm: Listen, he wants to say, the learning here
is critical. Learn what’s important. Hang on to those moments.
Don’t come home every weekend, if that helps at all. But they just hug again.

All the way home he takes back roads.
He tries to remember anything more about that night twenty-six years ago
but draws a huge blank while driving through the late summer tunnels
of green, the long light stippling the road and the car.
Exactly, he thinks. That’s it exactly.
It’s like a sketchbook. It’s not at all
like a photo.