mid-air mumbles

pause. sigh. go. hi.

this

we laugh
as the record
player scratches
the vinyl of “put your
right foot in” hokey-
pokey madness.  the green-
gray linoleum of our living
room acts as rink
to our socked
feet.  and Dixie watches
with wide-eyed alien
curiosity.  your baby

blue lasers twinkle
behind cat eyes, and he is
the tallest man on
Earth.  i put my feet on his
shoes, and we waltz
to suspicious minds.  and
then, i fly—like i know
how—and every fear
i’ve ever had finds its
place on his rickety

shoulders.  he tells me
to touch the sky, and
somehow, i believe
i can.  and somehow,
i do.

—aim, 6.15.10, all rights reserved.

(i miss you, daddy).

Posted at 1:33am and tagged with: full width, daddy, father's day, poetry, poem, photo, sky, clouds, sunset, colorado,.

this
we laughas the record player scratches the vinyl of “put your right foot in” hokey-pokey madness.  the green-gray linoleum of our living room acts as rink to our socked feet.  and Dixie watches with wide-eyed alien curiosity.  your baby blue lasers twinkle behind cat eyes, and he is the tallest man on Earth.  i put my feet on his shoes, and we waltz to suspicious minds.  and then, i fly—like i know how—and every fear i’ve ever had finds its place on his rickety shoulders.  he tells me to touch the sky, and somehow, i believe i can.  and somehow, i do.
—aim, 6.15.10, all rights reserved.
(i miss you, daddy).

the twenty-five year exhale

when i was itty-bitty, my
Mama told me that
thunderclaps were my Daddy’s
lucky strikes…so i wouldn’t
be afraid when the
lightning came.  i used to
picture Daddy in his brown
flannel—hair askew—smile half-cocked—
bowling with God on a
fluffy, white cloud.  sometimes,
i still do.  and it makes
the Boogeyman inside me
laugh.  when i’m looking
for my keys, most
days, i yell, “Daddy,
give it up.”  and two
minutes later, i’ll
find them in the microwave—
next to my mascara and a can of
peas.  it’s his way
of reminding me
he kept his promise. 
his body’s gone, but he didn’t
leave. 

late at night, sometimes, when
i can’t sleep, i
ask him about Mama
and Papa and Terry and Everett and all
the ones who left me
behind.  i ask him if i’ll ever
find someone to love me
half as much as he did.  i ask
him for monkeys and paid bills
and all the dreams i never wished
for when i was six—because i was
too busy dying, too.  and i tell
him, “one day, i’ll ride
a bike.  one day, i’ll be
the one you knew i could
be.  one day, i’ll be
worthy.”  but,
for now, i’m just
the girl without
parents, trying not
to skin her knees.  and he
will make sure i’ll always laugh
when i finally find my keys.

—aim, 6.15.10, all rights reserved.

Posted at 12:20am and tagged with: full width, colorado, clouds, sky, sun, poem, poetry, photo, photography,.

the twenty-five year exhale
when i was itty-bitty, my Mama told me that thunderclaps were my Daddy’s lucky strikes…so i wouldn’t be afraid when the lightning came.  i used to picture Daddy in his brown flannel—hair askew—smile half-cocked—bowling with God on a fluffy, white cloud.  sometimes, i still do.  and it makes the Boogeyman inside me laugh.  when i’m looking for my keys, most days, i yell, “Daddy, give it up.”  and two minutes later, i’ll find them in the microwave—next to my mascara and a can of peas.  it’s his way of reminding me he kept his promise.  his body’s gone, but he didn’t leave.  late at night, sometimes, when i can’t sleep, i ask him about Mama and Papa and Terry and Everett and all the ones who left me behind.  i ask him if i’ll ever find someone to love me half as much as he did.  i ask him for monkeys and paid bills and all the dreams i never wished for when i was six—because i was too busy dying, too.  and i tell him, “one day, i’ll ride a bike.  one day, i’ll be the one you knew i could be.  one day, i’ll be worthy.”  but, for now, i’m just the girl without parents, trying not to skin her knees.  and he will make sure i’ll always laugh when i finally find my keys.
—aim, 6.15.10, all rights reserved.