i used to fall asleep in the car,
riding home at night after a
long outing. i remember the hum
of the road, the flashing head
lamps; i remember the sudden quiet
of the engine cutting off, daddy scooping
me up in his arms to carry me in. some
times a shoe would slip, a mumble, a word—
a hint that i wasn’t completely asleep;
but he would carry me up the stairs into
the house, up the stairs into my bed.
i don’t remember what was said: just
the strong arms around me, the
scent of man, of capability, of love.
later there would be times i would try
to recreate this safe feeling, this
extended touch, this close carry.
but it was never the same.