Context:
***
Imagining
It starts like spring lamb's wool caresses:
"Papa..."
I'm imagining a whisper-hush voice
somewhere on the edge of a distant evening:
"Papa..."
Delicate eyes fluttering gently,
brows softly rounding.
"Papa..."
In the still heart of the night,
her voice rises once again:
"Papa..."
"Yes, my sweet."
"How does this story go?"
Indeed. How does this story go?
Its the question I carry in my pocket,
close to my heart...
...but I'm at a loss for words right now, little one.
"Nobody knows, little one. Nobody knows."
Or at least I can't catch hold of the right words
spinning in my imagination like a ballerina
weeks before you float and fall
...into my arms,
...into my world,
...into my forever future.
"But why, papa?"
Because
this is one story that unfolds slowly,
one color-splash page at a time,
at the speed of us,
you and me,
a little one and her papa...
"Papa..."
"Yes?"
"But where do we go first?"
I don't know, little one,
but I'm waiting for you to take me:
...into the forest,
...up the tree,
...down the rabbit hole,
...through the clouds...
...and anywhere your sweet eyes can possibly dream.
"Papa..."
"Yes?"
"But what will I wear when I get there?"
Glass slippers, I would imagine,
and we'll move (you and me) one glass-slippered step at a time,
dancing at the candle-lit ball
until midnight and light hold each other's hands,
spinning magically
in your dreams and and my unabashed wonderings.
"Papa..."
Imagining.
"Papa..."
"Yes, little one?"
"Will you always go with me?"
Imagining.
"Yes, little one. Always."
***
Note:
Without claiming anything profound in the raw poem writing process, one papa seeks to find words for what defies language.
Perhaps he'll find truth along the way.
Others in the "To My Daughter" series
That's a beautiful poem, honey. Berkeley will love it when you recite it to her.
xoxo me
Posted by: Karla (aka "Beckett's Mama") | February 22, 2009 at 01:09 PM
Oh my....goosebumps! Good job Christian! Very sweet!
Posted by: Robyn | February 21, 2009 at 08:45 AM