Ode to an Everyday Poet
I remember the night she left.
Her dress, nightgown, brush.
How each quivered in your hands
when you lifted them
from a hospital-scented suitcase,
replaced hers with mine.
A silent drive followed.
Me too small to ask questions.
You wordless in your guilt.
Her cousin's wife's sister took me that first time.
Held me tight,
my heels drumming her skirt,
fists beating her arms,
while you walked away.
Raising a little girl...
It wasn't something you could do.
It wasn't something I allowed you to let go.
Every time you handed me off, I believed you back.
Sometimes it took months, but you always came.
Memories rub like sand
get under my skin
in my eyes.
Your voice still with me,
filling a lifetime of hours
Mending bee-sting to broken heart
with everyday poetry
rolled up in your John-Wayne drawl.
We walked the beach,
my sunrise into your sunset,
the lacy edge of the Atlantic ribboning my ankles.
I can see us,
the goosebumps pebbling my skin.
soprano squeals rising above baritone roar.
You keeping watch, swinging me high
so the big waves couldn't knock me down.
No matter what you do
some waves are gonna knock you flat.
Even one you see coming a long way off.
The last time I saw you,
I did what you never could--
I let go.
I hoped Her arms would wrap around you,
lift you up
when I walked away.
It was the right thing to do.
I wish I could believe you back.
This is my response to the dVerse Poet's prompt for an Ode to a Poet. Drop by to see what others wrote or to join the fun yourself. Happy birthday, dVerse. Happy birthday, Daddy.