Emily's goodnight
Statuses consuming my attention
I skim across the lives of dozens
like the dull duty of an ancient god,
bored, not to mention
judgemental of their petty existence
I move past dreams and pain and
farmville sod.
Into the frame of the voyeur
steps my older child, her hair
drenched and tattered like an
M. Night Shyamalan monster.
Gazing through locks that could pass
for blonde kelp on a sea hag
Staring stand.
Her pyjamas almost too childish;
like old men wearing shorts
cute yet unbecoming of position.
Taking her in I soon wish
that I could keep this moment
alive in memory forever.
Call it intuition.
Treading onto a freshly frozen lake
testing to ensure she doesn't fall
through, vanishing from sight
into icy emotional depths.
Trepidous steps, test and take
the space to my cushiony perch.
To say goodnight.
A shout, excessive by rock-concert
decibel levels, emits from gleaming
azure lenses; hedged by eyelashes
like rows of beech trees alert
and standing guard over a lane.
All is quiet as she repeats
bedtime wishes.
That look with the force to render
me an instant paraplegic, she
seizes the moment and leans forward.
I can only watch and wait for her
to express herself. Fatherhood
has taught me to react with love
however implored.
Her nose, like a cherub; chubby
and tiny; nudges mine. A dusting
of freckles on the bridge add
proof that she is forever still my baby.
Eskimo kisses shift paradigms like
a drag racer. Suddenly I only know
I'm her Dad.
Our foreheads lean in, resting
I'm telepathically affirming her.
Locked eyes and punctuation less dialog.
IloveyouDaddyI'maprincessyou'reaking.
Iloveyouhoneyyou'llalwaysbeamazing.
I'mgoingtobedbuttellmeagainI'mpretty.
Hearitinthishug.
She dances away, a jewellery box ballerina.
I am stricken by my unassessable wealth and
unavoidable mortality.
Affection transcending measure.
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