Against my father’s feet, mine were dolls’,
tip toeing on firm leather
to salute the same height he possessed.
Belt to chin, stomach to knees,
“Dance with me, Daddy,”
I said please.
Cradled back and forth sculpted into his bust,
we rocked to and fro
from heel to toe, as
I practiced my princess posture
against his knight-like stature.
Lifting my crown, he gently tapped on
my chin, angling it upwards
towards diamond-studded stars.
He whispered, “That will be you someday”,
Embraced me, then continued
shuffling up and down our front porch,
My loose arms hugging his waist,
his firm squeeze stabilizing my child’s slouch.
We swayed and danced;
Years later we danced for the first time
in decades. It was my wedding day.
He beckoned me to the dance floor
and we began the familiar whirl
back and forth.
“Remember the days?” he whispered,
and I hopped onto his aged feet
As they continued the tap, tap, tap
on the waxed wooden floor, like the sound of
scuffling feet on our old front porch.
His arms embraced my waist with a
gentle strength, and I had never
stood straighter. He brushed a vintage
hand underneath my chin so
I could gaze into his eyes, wise now,
like the wrinkles on his head.
It dawned on me then that he still saw
in me that little girl, and he would always be
clad in an admiring daughter’s armor. Yet
despite time ushering us ahead,
we would only carry on
By Katelyn (DP2)