The Father and the Swan

I was, and will always be, a runner.

I learned to fight the world by flying. 

Little girl, would run, 

and everybody chased after her--

until they didn’t.

There wasn’t a single tree

I didn’t want to climb,

no lake-bed

I didn’t want to bury my face in.

Even then, I was looking

for new ways to cover up

this incorrect body,

this maladapted 

creature.

Before the family broke,

we’d go to the park.

And there, I’d run,

like a dummy into oblivion.

Run dumb girl, run.

Oh look, trees!

The un-diagnosed ADHD

was just glowing pond water,

and the stream emanating outward,

further into the wood

was the way my father used to look at me.

It hadn’t taken long to get lost.

The forest swallowed me,

the stream I followed 

only flowed inward.

ENTER: the Swan.

My child eyes could hardly hold

the splendor. I wanted to be her,

and she knew it.

My curiosity was not armor enough,

and she knew that too.

Maybe she was the swan queen,

or a swan mother

like I could never be.

It undoubtedly was my impertinence,

my imposition, my wrongness

that offended her. First came the honking,

it might have well been 

the horns of war to my tiny ears. 

Her majesty, was ready

to tear this little, wrong, creature

apart. The offensive posture

of her wingspan

froze me in wonderment.

Her beauty was enough

to die inside of.

I didn’t know enough

to be afraid.

And when she charged

I still wouldn’t move.

ENTER: the father.

It’s exactly the moment

one might imagine

in the ecstasy of dreams

yet to be obliterated

by reality. 

ENTER: the father.

His running was always

heavy on the knees,

like he was tenderizing

the dirt.

ENTER: the father.

He waited a month to call

after the psych ward.

ENTER: the father.

I think there was a time

when he was proud of me.

ENTER: the father.

When he chased, the swan

exited stage left.

The danger was gone.

And neither of us changed.