Dad

I forgot how to breathe;
just sharp and fast and then not at all.
The late-night sun lit up the world and I was falling.
I tell people I’m broken too much, I think.
I tell people I don’t know and I don’t know,
really.

I never seem to know.

Right now,
right where the dark comes behind the screen and
the window and where the music is just guitar...

Right now...

I want my father.
I want those ancient times when I was small enough to be picked up.
I want those arms around me again;
heavy forearms and biceps with an easy hand on my leg.
I want the feel of his heartbeat,
and the touch of his fingers in my hair.

There was a time when he was protector,
he was my god.
His word and voice were golden.

He could just hold me close,
I was small and cared there.
I was his little girl with her tricycle,
I watched him put the box on the back and rode around.
I plucked at his guitars with my little fingers.
I touched his face with my palm and grinned at him,
missing teeth and little lips.

I did not know the world then;
it was new.

I spilled a cup of honey across the floor in a sticky mess,
and he yelled at me and I cried until he wiped those tears away;
his large fingers on my small face.

He cried in the basement when he thought no one was looking,
and I said his name, soft and low.

“Daddy?” I said.

I knew something was wrong.
He held me close,
I was his little girl.
I am his little girl.
He tucked me close and I felt him sob against me.

Pick me up again, won’t you?
Daddy... I don’t want to grow up.
I want to be unknowing,
Won’t you smile again at me?
Play me your guitar and put me to sleep?

Dad...