We created her together.
A shot at
God's pottery wheel.
Ours.
Equally.
And nights without
sleep and
bumps on the head
we felt as she did.
Equally.
But I
am father.
And the world
knows that I
can't throw the
ball around.
With her.
That I can't go
to ballgames.
With her.
So, I fade into
scenery
and she becomes.
Yours.
Singularly.
But here,
in the tender glow
of our modest world
we work together.
And that is what
matters to us.
Equally.
4 comments:
This is really more of a rant than a poem. I hate that because I have a daughter a lot of random people think that I'm not that involved in her life. Like fathers can't take care of their daughters. It bothers me. Sorry, this is rough.
That's one hell of a last stanza you got here! "in the tender glow / of our modest world" is brilliant. I can't say I feel you as a father myself, because I'm not, but I can feel you because you describe your "angst" very discretely here. The people who are criticizing you for not being involved are idiots.
Thanks bro. I was pretty unsure about this one, and it's not criticism per se, but society in general thinking that father's A. Don't want to be involved in the lives of their daughters and
B. Are generally less important than mothers.
It's this huge bullshit binary opposition in society.
You mentioned this over coffee, and you've crystallized your thoughts into a tight poem. You seem to be working with repetition a lot as of late, to great effect, I must say! As much as "Equally" is repeated, the "Singularly," in its singularity, is what stands out: this is appropriate, symbolic of the louder mainstream perspective you capture about the father's role in a daughter's life. Violet is lucky to have a father who steps outside of the norm and closer to her.
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