He moves about haphazardly, picks at the mess, carries brimming ashtrays into the kitchen, starts on the plates and glasses.
Friends and family had gathered, the church alive with blossom and celebration; love and laughter and tears flowed.
His sister had teased how he would follow, unseen, his daughter's first days of school; how he didn't when she started dating.
Absently tidying, he picks up a yellow petal fallen from her corsage, and remembers the rose placed at her birth upon her mother's grave.
A cousin recalled, as youngsters, when mischief earned stinging rebuke and tearful hugs.
As he rinses the last glass he remembers the doll and the wounds remaining still.
She had adored the doll when he brought her home, insisting he adopt "Sissy" as her really sister.
Sissy ate with them, pressed between them for Saturday morning cartoons and goodnight hugs.
Often a confidante in the storms of chilhood, Sissy warmed their life and protected her sleep.
Then one day, Sissy disappeared.
"I'm eating, Dad", between mouthfuls, rejecting his question.
"I want to hear this", shushing him, engrossed in the latest episode of some show; he couldn't recall.
No Sissy snuggled with her in bed; "I'm not a baby" she scolded.
He found the doll in her closet; a box of Big Bird posters, plastic bracelets, dismissed childhood trinkets.
His heartbreak lashed his soul, her calm rejection stinging.
Pausing in the doorway to her room, he enters, gathers up the gown she'd hastily dropped changing to slacks and blouse.
"You're too young", he remembers with a smile, protesting.
The long engagement eased his acceptance;
not kind, watching womanhood kidnap your daughter.
As he turns to leave, his gaze falls on her bed-
and Sissy upon her pillow.
.
YOU ARE READING
Love in all its Colours
Poetrya spectrum of deeply felt personal relationships, of meaningful selflessness and reciprocity "not always pretty not always fun not just for the young"
