I hear the rattle of a trailer
Behind us, boat bouncing down
The pitted, sandy backroad
In the dark, quiet morning
"Stay awake, fishing buddy."
The seatbelt scratches my neck.
The stick wobbles next to my leg.
Headlights shine down the corn-lined lane
And fuzzy little moths
Flit around the lights
And whisper near my hair
In the cab of the well-loved pickup.
A calming scent, musty and damp
Envelopes our morning ride.
An orange juice bottle gently clunks
In the cup holder along with spare coins.
The doughnuts sit on my lap
Over the seatbelt, clutched in my sleepy hands.
And the air smells like dew on the
Long grasses and tassels we pass.
The man next to me
Smells like fur, flannel, and well water;
Toothpaste and coffee.
He loves me.
I gaze at his profile with the earnest,
Sleepy-eyed smile of a child.
I know this feeling, instinctually.
Dad. This is dad.
YOU ARE READING
Big Eyes
PoetryPoems from my path across the United States as I attempt to heal and find my family. ***my mother and I have reconciled. We're good, you shouldn't worry.
