I remember lasooing
the moon-
In a special way.
Like a story told so
many times the
details become
ingrained in you
like campfire smoke
to hair.
I feel the rough wood
of the fence beneath
my tenderly young
fingers-
grasping tight though
your hand never
left my back.
The moon, and the man
in it smiling down
on us, glistened
in the lake as
we swung and swung
our rope. And then
he was ours-
Pulling with all
our collective might,
Father and daughters
united in triumph
of what no one
thought they could do,
we tugged him in.
I remember this like I do
my name (Emily Elizabeth)
and my birthday (May 6, 1991)
and the way your
hands always smelled
coming in from the cold
(like home).
And it's this-
This memory so a
part of me- that
started it all.
With one hand on
my back and the
other pulling the
rope with our
tiny ones-
We caught the
Moon. I have
always known that-
With your hands
as guidance-
I can do anything
because I did that.