On my street I am witness to the young men
who carry the pink-flowered backpacks of little girls,
who stoop to listen to their newsy plotless chatter
or the quiet rhyming of a song they may
or may not hum along to.
A man whose lap is a hammock of care,
whose fingers show how to bow a shoelace
or guide a daughter’s hand
over the beguiling shape
of her own name.
Downhill, under the arbor of big-leafed maples
matching his stride to hers, late or on time
for daycare or perhaps a new school
where all he wants is for her to be safe, happy
and at the threshold of such a place, hugs her,
nothing more, and everything.
Photo by Brittani Burns on Unsplash
What a nice tribute and reminder that there are good fathers out there.
Thank you so much, Nina, for making a comment like that. Yes! There are good fathers out there and as I did not have a good father in any way, it is a bit of a blessing to be able to notice that now.
Comments are closed.