A Flight and a Climb with The Missed Dad I’m Learning to Live With and Without

Saturday 23/01/2021

Big Girl staring at the wing

won't fall.


"Bumps in the road," the Venusian

attendant 'suedes. Big Girl's s-
wayed. Dad thinks of falling
hard. The carnage
he envisions—Big Girl won't
near that mental prison. The Venusian
knows Dad's shaking hands release
the weight of daily en-
dangerment. Big Girl looks
to clouds below, and
space above; to shaking ev-
errything. Shook, she asks her
dad, look?" and makes her eyes
shake, then
takes his hands. "Bumps in the road,"
she feathers (pomp-
ostorously, venusi-
unbecomingly),
and fallinn-

-ng


from his crow's nest, dropping

watch,

looking after then... "ver-
rry ff-
unny. Thank

y-

ou my good
big brave

cc-

llever girl," he

Gives.
OK, Moon

I see it now; this world that lays low

in forced brightness. We walked
in your light over moor, cows' chorus
scoring and shushing our chatter;
low and shuffling shadows.

I couldn't lie, and cried then. I was
comforted. You show me our
collections; razor shells, and bone-
reachingly bright climbs over
Spanish hay, along foot-wide ledges,
sweeping swallows, half a long day's
hope,
and—OK, Dad?
This here doesn't move like seaweed…

It is animal/animals, and its body
lives
in rock, in darkness; its
long branched limb
protruding.
OK, Moon

I see it now; night is night.
You're thin.
You'll soon be new. Little
light
from that shy world
will be left with me.

I await illumination;
your coming fullness.

Published by Kay Keenan

Kay Keenan writes poetry and fiction, and her story "Shoes and Trews and Shell Dust" was shortlisted for the Bath Flash Fiction prize, and published in their anthology "with one eye on the cows". She works as a holistic therapist in the country of Cumbria.

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