|
|||||||||||||||
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Swish, swish ,swish the rocking chair slats slip as they glide across the bleach-white hospital floor. Hush, child, hush feel your Daddy's warm hands touch as he holds his wee wriggling fish in the net of his strong arms. "Sickly, you may be, but, soon all will be well. Your daddy is here to heal what grieves you. Your heart does not deceive you. Safe, you are, now with me. No peeps, little sweet. " (Draping my right arm around his neck, I tucked my blond head beneath his chin to feel his sharp stubble against my damp forehead.) But years go by and my heart often cries in fear, worn-out frustration at the loss of love and time Father has moved on. (He said once...) "We do our best, I guess ...its in this life some are at their worst some never pass small tests some do only what they want nothing less and nothing more." I confess, in my mind's eye I always see him leaving out some revolving doorway. I guess that makes me into a kind of moping orphan. Someone who knows she's been left but still hoping for the kick of love's endorphin. Sometimes, I have just these few chances left... maybe it will only in the next life if there is a paradise or reincarnation for the bereft. Will we then, re-unite, Father, to experience what we have lost? Or maybe what we really never had? Do I miss you, Dad? Or is it the idea of you? Love does not belong buried beneath the ground... but not even there are you found; your scattered ashes have traveled on and are flowing down a river to no set resting place. Many nights I've remembered the swish, swish, swish.. and the movement of the chair and you being there with me. It is the best of your best, Father, that you have left to me. Copyright October 10, 2013 Re-edited October 17, 2014 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author All Ideas, Rants/Prose, Poetry are the written works of this Writer All Rights Reserved By This Author Melissa A Howells/Meloo from her Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
|