Daddy’s Girl

“Saved for your twenty-fifth”


You saved his life in a way,
but you never
knew it.

All because of one thrilling ride
with fifteen beers, your mama’s babies in
the back seat, one blue and sweaty—you.

At the hospital, your mama gripped your
hands as they shot you not once but twice to
jumpstart your breathing. They had told her
the flu shot would save your life but they

were wrong. It almost took you and she
would have changed places with you
if not for the fact that there were three
others that needed caring for and the daddy

was yupping it up with the nurses in the
ER. I need to tell you because you never
know when the Coach de Bauer  will roll in


and I’ll be riding in the back like Darby
O’Gill. But you saved his life that night.

When ya’ll got home your mama carried
all four babies into the house and left him
to sleep it off in the back of the car but

you and him got her thinking how
wrong all of this was. How wrong it was
to remain under this drinking regime.

Maybe you wonder
why she married him in the first place,
it takes some sight to see
sometimes when a person woos you with
secrets and entices you with a new way
of thinking that is different from your own

and promises that he believes you are
glorious, a special hold-out just for him,
then you think that this must be the door
that is opening but the truth is you held

that door open for yourself while it was
closing all because of pride or yearning
or needing, and the other truth is you just
can’t see because the light is different here.


It’s a strong light, a gripping light, but not
a true light. In the morning she told him
she was leaving him if he didn’t quit drinking.
And she meant it and he did. He did because

he loved you more. So, they reached out for
one of them mercy threads cascading


from heaven and she learnt herself a few
lessons too about light and dark.

You made it to your fifth birthday safe
in his arms because he loved you more
than a saucy bottle of nectar,
that strong gripping light that

promised him the moon, but he found a
new love and that was you. And he is
more proud of you than any father has
a right to be and he’s totally over that


moon for you, as is your mama, but this
new light you live for has him baffled,
your mama baffled, because they both see
that is strong and gripping but not true and

you don’t see it. Do you see that he can only
see it because you saved his life once? You
saved him from the false light

that gripped
his mind and body that would be wasted by
now if not for you.

The scar your mama bares across her belly
still pains her from time to time but she
rejoices when she feels that pain because
her baby was saved that night.

Saved for
her fifth birthday, her eleventh birthday,
her eighteenth, her twenty-first, and now her
twenty-fifth. It’s a heavy load at times to grow
up. We start like a willow that bends in the


breeze but with some soul-searching, with
some grace, we will end like a redwood.
It starts at about that quarter of a century
marker. That is my prayer—that you’ll end


like a redwood if it takes a full century.

Your beauty surpasses any wilderness
of willows and your daddy
would fight bear, lion, or panther
for you no matter
what forest you get lost in
even if he doesn’t have the words.

I just needed to tell you this because you
never know when the Coach de Bauer  will
roll into town calling my name.

Ap. 28, 2012
(for a beautiful young woman
in Charlestown, SC or Atlanta
or Chicago)

(photos: stock.xchng)


“Surviving 1930 or 2130”

DAY 14 PAD Challenge

I realize I skipped posting a poem yesterday. Some prompts just don’t motivate me or maybe I’m just a bit lazy at times. I’ll post yesterdays tomorrow or maybe another day but for today the prompt was to write a doomsday poem, however you
interpret that.

“Surviving 1930 or 2130”

Your poetry curtains, loose and rusty, are held closed with stiff wooden
clothespins and you recite to the infant in a bassinette, brushing her
hair with your fingers, your nightdress dragging on the floor, frozen toe
poking out the slipper hole.

To fill that loneliness you let the baby squeeze your finger, that’s what
babies are for, all ten of them, to fill the hole. She said she loved them
but she was just being polite. Two rounds of empty dinner plates at the

kitchen table, chairs warmed up for the second shift, bits of bread and
spider legs between the slats of the floorboards. They don’t last long.
Back then the tablecloth held wonders, now just a gravy stain from years

gone by in the shape of Tennessee because you couldn’t resist flipping
Jack’s spoon after grace was said. Mama bought that cloth from the Ben
Franklin bag sale. She had wanted a swinging fan but you can’t make the

thing work with no electricity. Somehow a compact had made its way into
the bag and she had to explain that to Pops when he asked for the receipt.
He told her it was a cockamamie story—beauty has no place in our lives

now. Give all those hands something to do, Mama. But he couldn’t see those
hands had chosen for themselves, some chose good and some chose bad.

The good ones knew her love,

The bad ones knew her secret.

(photo: stock.xchng. bjearwicke)

“Something’s about to explode”

PAD Challenge 12

I’m quoting today’s prompt:

“For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Something (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem.”

I’m not sure why this prompt triggered this memory, but I guess the story must be told.It might seem like a tongue-in-cheek poem, but, alas, it’s all too true.

“Something’s about to explode”

He tried to cut through the neighbor’s
unfenced yard to catch his new puppy
that had wiggled free of its leash, but

the man stood against the screen door
with a rifle in his hands.

A boy and his dog.

A man and his gun.

One steaming bulletproof mama with a tongue on fire—


(photo: stock.xchng-numus)