A Father is a Home

A girl’s reaching fingers find his waiting pinky.

Dainty and delicate and childlike in their clumsy eagerness.

Small enough to wrap all five comfortably ‘round his one,

as she bounces along the crosswalk in a flurry of cinnamon curls.

And when he angles her a glance askew,

fixes her with silvered eyes that crinkle at each corner,

She knows.

A woman’s trills of laughter sparkle like glass under the sun,

and meet the honeyed familiarity of his in easy harmony.

Their bond tested, but unchanged.

Unspoiled by the ravages of time,

that are too often punishing, unrelenting and cruel.

And when he fixes her with that crooked smile,

and says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She knows.

A hundred people stand with bated breath,

as they marvel at her beautiful white dress.

As they wait in hushed silence with soft, expectant eyes.

And for a moment she feels lost, uncertain and afraid.

But then he takes her gently by the arm.

Guides her slowly down the aisle.

And when he leans in to whisper, “I won’t let you fall.”

She lifts her chin with a tearful smile.

“I know.”