“Do you see me daddy , I’m going so high!”
I did, in fact, see her, going so high, and my hands tapped and fidgeted on my chest in a nervous display of fatherly concern as I fought the urge to rescue her from the swing that, I was sure, conspired to dump her unceremoniously onto the hard concrete beneath her.
“I do see you baby!!” I assured her, forcing a note of excitement into my voice that I was sure bordered on hysteria.
She gracefully kicked her legs, gaining momentum, and the blue sky welcomed her as she soared toward the clouds.
I watched her, the wind kissing her hair, as she smiled in the freedom of flight.

“Daddy,can you push me?” She asked gently.

My heart soared with her in the clouds as my hand touched her soft back, encouraging her escape from the confines of the wingless, flightless things held captive on the ground. I knew that she would fly alone one day, but for now, she was taking me along for the ride. My beautiful little girl.

If someone ever asked me
Why I liked the sky so much
I think I would tell them
Because I hate it here
And I’d rather be a cloud
That can go anywhere and everywhere
And see everything
And spill my emotions everywhere
Instead of just sitting in my room
Crying beneath my sheets
Because I hate it here

Everything I am,
Right here.
RIGHT now.

Is everything you wanted,
A wife.
A lover.
Your salvation.

Be blessed,
I will never leave.
Until the day we die,
Just love me.

Became one,
Family issued pulled us together.
Fighting for our right to love one another.

Love can be a beautiful thing,
When you know what it is.

Your thoughts are so off brand
        I can't get them at the grocery store

I am lost with you...
I find so many directions with you..
and never know which to choose...
I watch your eyes light up...
the smile that breaks across your face when you see me...
I'm lost here... lost with you in this time and space..
watching the light filter through the trees...
the tepid breeze that catches my hair...
I'm completely lost...
watching the grasshoppers frolic from brush to brush...
the crickets trilling in the trees...
pricking my hands on sandspurs...
I'm lost here in this place I know from memory...
Lost here with you....
always waiting for you...

E.J.M.

The bruise
on Ingrid's thigh
was green and blue
and yellow

and about
two inches
in diameter
like some artist

had dabbed it there
to mix his or her
colours before
beginning a work of art

and I only saw it
as she reached up
to catch a ball
I threw in our ball game

on the grass
by Banks House
and it showed up
as her grey skirt rose

what's the bruise?
I asked
she stood pulling
her skirt down

with one hand
and holding the ball
with the other
I fell over

she said
going shy and red
don't lie Ingrid
you know and I know

who did it
he's always doing it
I said
she looked past me

at the windows
of the flats behind us
and upwards to others
higher up

I fell
she said
on the stairs running
from whom?

she threw the ball up
in the air
no one
she lied

I caught the ball
and stood holding it
in both my hands
you can't lie

as good as I can
I said
she sat down
on the grass

and I sat next to her
putting the ball
beside us
your old man right?

she nodded
and put her hands
on the grass
each side of her

I made him angry
talked too much
she said
looking at her shoes

and the white socks
he's a pig head
I said
he's my dad

she said
he gets angry
and hits you
and bruises you

and it's not
the first time either
I said
don't tell anyone

or it'll make it worse
she said
looking at me
with her eyes

behind her glasses
I won't tell no one
but he's still
a pig head

and if I get him
in the sights
of my six shooter cap gun
I'll blow a hole

in his thick fat thigh
she looked at me
not knowing whether
to laugh or cry.

I am as that old book the librarian hides away,
Beneathe the back of the hall of records,
Only wanting and needing to be read,
Opened,
To feeleth another soul turn me page by page!!!!

Seeing not just mine cover,
But the plot of me,
The preface which most ignore,
And thy end!!
I want one to connect with me that oldened book hidden on that lonesome shelf the oldened librarian forgot of...
I want one not just to read me whole,
But to connecteth to mine soul,
As mine words to her do come to life....

Page by page....