The author's father killed himself "in a public park . . . while I was waiting to be born." His mother never forgave his father. When the author found a portrait of him in the attic, his mother "ripped it into shreds / without a single word."
Through “suburbs and the falling light,” the poet follows his father, mile after mile, trying to reach “the secret master of my blood.” He tries to speak with his father, to tell him how things turned out--they lost the house, his daughter married, the poet “lived on a hill that had too many rooms . . . . ” Finally, at the water's edge, the poet cries out for his father to return; he implores him not to jump into the water. The father turns his head and reveals “The white ignorant hollow of his face.”
