my father
his voice aged when he spoke about her,
this girl he loved so many years ago.
we were crossing the golden gate bridge
and the sun was climbing down the side of the bay
the fogline intermittent, like morse code on the water.
"i carried a torch for her for years" he said.
the time had passed, ultimately,
and she didn't come back.
what a kind gesture, i thought-
he carried a torch for her.
for years he walked, a quiet crackling flame at his side
as if to say that should she get lost in the dark,
he would always be just on the horizon-
a dot of light murmuring in the wake of the waves.
this girl he loved so many years ago.
we were crossing the golden gate bridge
and the sun was climbing down the side of the bay
the fogline intermittent, like morse code on the water.
"i carried a torch for her for years" he said.
the time had passed, ultimately,
and she didn't come back.
what a kind gesture, i thought-
he carried a torch for her.
for years he walked, a quiet crackling flame at his side
as if to say that should she get lost in the dark,
he would always be just on the horizon-
a dot of light murmuring in the wake of the waves.