for T, twenty years onward
Soft blue eyes,
pale to the understanding
a little girl
with her hand in yours
jumping over a moving stream
picking up the clothes for toys
because she would not have know
motherhood then, like she does now
soft blue eyes
never letting her cry
because tears are made with our most precious
pain, that reverberates
when she thinks of you
away from your city
your old bones now,
tired to the call of a voice
tender to the fact that you
her protection is the first true father
she's ever had.
No comments:
Post a Comment