I once asked my father
to dance around the living
room with me, my feet on
his as he twirled me around
the laughs and giggles filling
the room in colors of gold –
myself in a sun dress of white,
a flower and ribbons in my hair,
stepping on his cowboy boots
I remember far better on my
feet than his own. It was a
bliss that only comes in ages;
twice in memory, only once in
the presence of beauty bound.
A foreshadowing of the day
when I can embrace him and
give thanks for taking my
hand to give to another, and
allowing me to follow my heart
to grow up, to be like him.