Dear Papa

Dear Papa,
Is there something you want to say?
How many memories have you locked away?
Could you set them free; with me, as your witness?
Do you care, are you aware; that I can see, I can feel, those memories, silently screaming?
Oh Papa, so deeply I care, about you.
If you wish it, to keep the box sealed, I respect this decision too. Then we can simply rock away, in our chairs, on the porch, and speak about the morning news. Gladly.
Yet Papa, just know, if it will serve your mind and your heart, to let go, of the bind, the memories that desire escape, you too, will feel free; I believe. You will feel lighter, more able to be, authentically, with me; your daughter. I will never judge. I will never leave. I will never hold a grudge. I will never walk away, but actually, run, closer to you.
Dear Papa, I know these are difficult questions to chew.
I know your classic man is stoic in enduring his truth.
I know it makes your stomach feel sick.
I know never would you imagine to pick, to unlock the well.
So I say again, whatever you choose, to do, with the stories, held inside, the memories that make you laugh, that you make you weep, that make you rejoice and make you seek…vices, endeavoring to survive….
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
With only the glimpse of an eye and a curl of your smiling lip, I know too, that you love me.
And that is enough.
So Papa, you choose. I am here, by your side, with an open heart and a gentle ear, to hear; whatever silently screams, or audibly sings, the story of you.
Dear Papa, I am simply grateful for the time, to watch you, push back and forth in this rocking chair, on the porch; me, an arms distance away, from a man who cares. Whether or not that is vociferously heard, I feel it and I know. And in this knowledge, my heart continues to grow; deeper in love. In love with the simplicity, and the complexity, of the mystery, in all beings. In the history of a life and the ongoing journey, uncovering parts of we. In seeing how the intricacy of me, is so intertwined, with you.
I give thanks to this web, in which you, my dear Papa are thread.
And as uncomfortable as it may feel, to hear it over and over again, I will continue to squeal…
I have from the moment of my first baby coo. And perhaps even before.
Your daughter, forever and true.
P.S. Let us not forget the fact, that it was you, who taught your daughter how to write a rhyme, as you too, are a poet of your time. Thank You.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Megan Elizabeth’s story.