My heart bursts in its banks, spilling beauty and goodness. I pour it out in a poem to the King, shaping the river into words. (Psalm 45:1)
His dark curls and
bemused eyes
appraise
the small frame
who sits
at the end of the couch.
Three-year old tummy
peeks out
between snaps,
sweetness belying her
serious gaze.
Who are you?
her eyes inquire,
as her heart
holds a door.
Perched together
on Naugahyde couch,
he tilts and tips on
unseen
precipice.
How will she know,
who can reveal
this stranger named
daddy?
He’s broken
but can’t tell,
she knows
but can’t reach.
This little girl’s heart
on the edge of a couch
wondering why
wondering who
From this cliff
dangles
the cost of
more than one
life.
(“A Stranger Named Daddy” by Laurel Thomas)
3 Comments. Leave new
Just lovely, Laurel, both content and form. I think I will try the form on some of my own work.
Thank you, Susie! I wrote it from a picture of my dad and I on a couch when just after he got home from Korea. I love poetry because you can express levels of emotion and not explain. 🙂
Wow. Mom just showed me this picture yesterday. I don’t think I’d ever seen it. Your poem captures it beautifully.