Saturday, June 14, 2014

Would I be a better woman?

People wake from their trances when
my father passes by
in uniform as if on parade
while I skip behind trying not to step 
on his very shiny shoes 
that blast up the street 
like torpedoes.
Then comes that moment--
I can touch its contours, 
I can call it forth any time--
when I reach for the soldier's hand--
when I feel mine fit snug as a shrimp 
inside its shell--
that’s how I want it to be. 
I want him to claim me as I claim him.
I wonder now, would I be a better woman 
had he not yanked his hand free, 
had he not said, I don't have time to be silly,
had he not meant, not now, not ever?