On the Futility of Wishing
As I grow older I don't always sleep so well.
I often wake to what I am sure
is someone shaking my shoulder,
'Wake up Daddy, look what I made for you, '
and there she is, fair skin and auburn hair. Otherwise, she is you in miniature.
She holds a crayon drawing
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,
and it makes my heart dance that her puppies smile. I smile. I reach for the drawings
And she runs to the living room. 'Watch me, Daddy, ' she will say as she
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
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
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
she will love forever.
I listen until the laughter is gone, then sit on the couch until morning
sure that if I wish hard enough I can conjure an alternate reality.
It never works. The world is indifferent to our desperate wishes,
so that I am left to hold on to brief and magical moments,
a long lunch in a quiet place, the lingering softness of your lips on mine,
the fleeting visits from a little girl who never was.
poem by Don McWilliams
Added by Poetry Lover
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