Leaning

The light is strange and old.

Sharp yellow blurs the corners,

The flash was too bright.

Time passes and

A father’s presence is less evident.

The figures are faded,                                                                   

And the memory has evanesced.

Strong and solid.

Torn blue jeans dusted in soil,

Work gloves and tennis shoes

Stained from earth.

A man stands against a background

Of backyard and fence,

His arm resting on a shovel’s metal frame.

My daddy.

On his other side,

A little girl with lopsided bangs and pink pants

Leans against him.

He is all she needs

To hold her up.

The only one she trusts

To rescue her from monsters and nightmares.

Those huge hands can fix anything.

Those eyes understand everything.

Their smiles are content and genuine.

They pose for the camera,

Pausing only for a moment

Before continuing their outdoor project.

When did I forget?

When did I stop

Leaning?