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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=567585" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On the Futility of Wishing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=567585" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">As I grow older I don't always sleep so well.<br>I often wake to what I am sure<br>is someone shaking my shoulder, <br>'Wake up Daddy, look what I made for you, '<br>and there she is, fair skin and auburn hair. Otherwise, she is you in miniature.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=567585" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">She holds a crayon drawing<br>and even in the faint light of the moon filtered through the bedroom curtains, I can see where she has written 'to Daddy', and at the bottom, 'Love Fiona, ' sometimes Fi, usually Feeney. The drawings are ponies or puppies, often with wings, <br>and it makes my heart dance that her puppies smile. I smile. I reach for the drawings</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=567585" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And she runs to the living room. 'Watch me, Daddy, ' she will say as she<br>turns a cartwheel or does a handstand, then it is 'Catch me, Daddy, ' and off she runs through the kitchen and down the back hall. I am so close<br>but I never catch up, and I always lose sight of her, hearing her laughter receding in the distance as I wish just once that I could hold her until<br>she fell asleep in my arms, take her picture in her prom dress, watch her graduate from college, walk her down the aisle and give her hand to the man<br>she will love forever.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=567585" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I listen until the laughter is gone, then sit on the couch until morning<br>sure that if I wish hard enough I can conjure an alternate reality. <br>It never works. The world is indifferent to our desperate wishes, <br>so that I am left to hold on to brief and magical moments, <br>a long lunch in a quiet place, the lingering softness of your lips on mine, <br>the fleeting visits from a little girl who never was.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Don+McWilliams">Don McWilliams</a></strong></div>

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