A father’s question.

Balancing her whole world in the ripple of his fore arm

He laid her head gently upon the deep pile rug,

Released her from his sheltering hug

Laid bare for all the world to see.

So fragile, so tiny, she.

Laughing at the space between the ceiling and the floor.

He was changing her. Changing her.

and, suddenly, he paused and looked at me…

“Sometimes when I touch her…”

He looked sincerely.

“Sometimes when I touch her,something darker twists in me.”

The beer and wild living shifted in his young face.

And from his lips a father’s question filled the space.

She gurgles and grabbed it from the air.

Can I touch her there? Just there?

Even though I am her father?

Even tho I am a man?

I think of future lovers, others,

and wonder if I can….

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