Before the Night Becomes Cold

There was a tomboy…her head filled with doubt.

I see her everytime a screendoor slams.

I offer her vacant lot praises.

Whatever the effort put forward…my help is never wanted…

it is in the manner in which she stands.

In many ways, she and I are one.

Running, hobbling into a fiery orange ball of sun.

Using our play money to pay back all who climbed the paneling…

To all who disappeared to soon.

This rough and tumble, wild and wooly, soul, I grab her at night when does not do as told.

With rustic hands and solemn grace…I attempt to wrap her in flannel before the night becomes too cold.

Crash Into You

Of course, there are moments when you are missed.

Flickering, shuttering, moments…when I see you in the lines upon my face.

Had you held a more sturdy hand…I would have worn less leather…more lace.

I beg for you now, as I had many years before.

The offering of ‘us.’

The magic of father and daughter and the confines of a normal culture.

Morals and majority could never have lived in our home, sweet, home.

Knives and threats were the beliefs in which WE all felt sure…and unsure.

These heroic days that come to pass…feed on every ounce I own with a fervent sign telling all, do not trespass.

To the living and the not so…just another day in which I hope to not crash.