Steve Hoffman shares one acre on Turtle Lake, in Shoreview, Minnesota, with his family, an ill-behaved puggle, and roughly 80,000 honeybees. He is a writer, tax preparer, and occasional French villager.

beginning of the end of the day

Because you were my milk swiller, my wild singer

of rhymes, because you gave them hell from swing sets

and the tops of slides, because the pendulum

of a knee-length diaper called into question no part

of your bossy authority, because you killed ants,

precisely, with your thumbs, and no one else had sense

enough to grab my face with both hands

when it was important. Because the gate is pretty flimsy

and it doesn’t have a lock, and it is somewhere near the beginning

of the end of the day. Because what fathers do is hold you back

and let you go, and what you do at gates is say hello,

and say goodbye. Because the world is waiting and it is a world

that has been known to take exclamation points and bend them

into question marks.

of links and legacy

a honey of a project