she runs around me,
arms swinging.
tooth-missing grins
telling me she’s living
where we are and
i’m just staring
past the mirror of my screen.
I miss this little girl. I love her so much.
Posts published in “Little One”
you’ve taken
all of my time
and
made it yours;
taken these
breaths
from me
and
made them words.
roots
don’t
cast
shadows
I want to give you
everything I had and
so much I didn’t.
the way you played
amongst the leaves,
following a path
and stepping off
to be yourself,
that’s all I ever wanted
for you: to be who
you are, who you
are meant to be,
no matter what
I think
or
they think
or
what may
hold you back;
you are you,
and don’t you forget it.
my eyes have been dry,
these past shy months,
as I sit or stand or lay
in this house, beside
these walls, unmoving
yet crushing, still.
and I try
to see through them,
these dry, now
cloudy eyes.
I haven’t cried.
I need to cry.
I need to emote
and feel something
other than plain.
I love Marge and Candi, my Babes. I love them and they’re not here for 9-10 hours each day, when i’m alone with work or conference calls. I miss Marge saying, “shoulders!,” or, “move up, daddy,” so she can share our chair.
during your sleep,
you wake in me
the need to be
a better man, a
better father,
one you can
depend on, who
you can talk to,
who you can
sit beside
and ask to
rub your back
to take your mind off
pooping.
You told me
today, after I said you’re strong:
“I’m not strong.
I’m powerful.”
she jumps on couch cushions,
tips of toes stabbing the cotton
as heels brace and spring
back
into the air, her weight-less-ness
becoming her happy place,
lasting as long as bounces do.
She kicks while arms strike air,
Calling me to gallop, showing
She’s not had enough; and I’m
Doing everything I can to keep
Her satisfied, to keep her calm
While body marks growth with
Her pain; subsiding, my bridle
Bitten to avoid tears mixing
With the drool on our arms,
She quickens my feet, turning me
Around the couch we sit on to eat;
I twist to reverse, to give her
Something new, something to
Catch the attention fighting those
Cries; and her eyes move ahead,
Guessing our path, when I buck
And find another way to do the
Same thing, to stretch our walls
And give her want to smile, to
Free her, all while fighting those
Cries.
You saw right through me today,
And all the ways I can’t protect you,
Whether in my sight or from it.
And you stared, and I cried,
The first time I’ve done so since your birth,
And you saw me as a fraud,
As this parent by necessity,
And whose only banner is of Try,
Whose only recourse is to soothe you,
And to support you, to hold you
While you cannot hold yourself,
And to give you reassurance
When you cannot know you need it
And to let you know I’ll always be here.
Even if you see right through that lie,
Know I’ll always be here
While I’m here, and I hope to leave you
With more than enough to be who you are.
I can’t protect her everywhere she goes, and that is crippling to think about. I felt this loss, this squeezing of my soul when I looked at her this morning. I knew this wouldn’t be how it always is, with her hands resting on mine, calmed by just my presence. I knew that she would grow up and rebel, or be pressured, or love, and that her mom and I couldn’t be there if she absolutely needed us to be there. I thought about my weight, about how I need to do better and be better so that I can be her support just those few years longer. I thought of how selfish I still am, despite Candi and I being the least selfish we’ve ever been. I felt how I always want to feel: protective.