He was my mother's boyfriend for almost two decades. Creative and manipulative, mercurial and whip-smart, brave to the end, Kevin was a complicated man who caused a lot of damage. He couldn't help it, with his own childhood of abuse and cruel words never far from the surface.

By the time he died, after eight years of illness, we had reached a peace. I loved him like a father.

Today would have been Kevin's 62nd birthday. (My mother just called to tell me she had a pain in the neck, just like she has every year on his birthday. Ah, the tension continues even after death . . .)

In honor of Kevin, I am posting one of his poems, "A Dream of the Snow." For many months after his death six years ago, my mother had this as her voice mail greeting. She got a lot of hang-ups.

A Dream of the Snow
From Knife Gift by Kevin Sheehan

For a long time I hid
while my body grew,
watched while it learned
a hard way to speak
till the clothes that it wore
no longer fit me
and I could not understand
a word of its speech.

For a long time I slept
while my body dreamed,
cried when it married, moved
away. Now I dream alone
in the room where we played.

Not of the fields, but the falling,
not of the cold, but the coming down,
my body is a dream of the snow.

Tags: Kevin, Poetry