some prose poetry from november of 2021.

my daughter, now 17, has special needs. i help her get ready for school every morning. i walk her to the school and return to pick her up every day. i still brush her hair. i’ve been doing this since she’s been 4 years old.

life is far from fair, and to this day i have trouble accepting the why’s. but if god is who i think he is, he’ll have me guiding her once i’m gone. each of my dogs at my side, waiting…

‘bench’

of course it’s a trick but fix your gaze long enough and you’ll believe angels dance in light. fingers of breeze play through leaves the way i spent mornings brushing your hair. sleep knots tied your locks and i’d do anything on earth to still be there. get yourself ready for school, you don’t need my help, but i’d hurry to you the moment you asked. i know your fingers didn’t work quite right. neither did my head accepting it. but look at you, wise woman grown from girl, goddess amongst mortal things. you must know by now the palm grows to cup the flame as slowly the wick withers. so i must let you be. i’ve had little to blind me of this life save you and a westward sun. please slip those once awkward fingers through the frightened of my own. stay till i can no more. i’ll sing a soft song of the days i held to your tender heart and we’ll spin along with spirits and i’ll keep my limbs like this old oak till my strength flees.

bench:

a long seat for two or more persons

#barflypoet

#josephapinto

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