FATHERS and DAUGHTERS

You lean over wood
as if dying -
but my arm supports
you – my love
connects - arm to arm
I feel it under my
skin – it flows through
my blood – and this
power I have I share
with you.

Your eye’s talk for you,
and I understand where
you have been – where
you still want to be -
but as you lean on
wood – watch as your
mouth sucks in air – those
eye’s feel the edge of
life – they look smaller
as if – you are
disappearing.

You bring tears to my
eyes - yet I turn, hide as
if a child – not wanting a
friend to see my true
feelings – tears because
I see the man who
pushed my swing – who
guided me as I slid down
a slide – who had tears in
his eye’s when I wore
white, and placed a penny
in my shoe.

Your pain I feel it too
and want to lean on wood
for you – for us – for
all the years you – were
my pillar - of my life
and now I search for help
to make you smile – as
a child searches for a
playmate on a deserted
street.

You know - I know your
friends are gone – left you
alone, but you are filled
by their love deep inside
your heart -
love – never changes,
it only grows deeper,
thicker, stronger, as roots
of a tree – as roots spread
beneath the ground – our
ground – our life – as I grab
your arm – take a few more
steps and search for the
pillar you need -
to stay alive - today.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved @2011

AT THE GIFT SHOP

AT THE GIFT SHOP

No fun.
No gifts.
No one smiled at the shop.
Little legs,
never touched the floor,
never did anything but
swing back and forth…
Back and forth.
Little legs.
Little, little, little
legs kept swinging
back and forth…
Never knew back then
those legs…
those little legs
were filled with nerves.
Nerves connected to a heart
A worried heart.

Daddy…
he sat next to me,
both he and I stared,
stared for hours.
Stared, stared; stared
at an ugly witch lady who
carried thick white chalk.
She walked too slow.
Damn slow…
Still see her legs -
spindles, rolled down
stockings, brown sweater
and hair chopped
above her neck.
She made little legs
swing back and forth -
back and forth.

She glanced at Daddy
and me, shaking her head no.
Shaking that ugly head no.

Over and over…
Little legs, swing and swing…
Tired now, yet those nerves,
nerves I didn’t recognize
made them move…

Names were on a chalkboard,
never could read, just knew
where Mommy’s name was
placed. Knew. Knew
what her name looked like –
Daddy pointed it out…
That’s where little eyes stared.

People passed Daddy and I
carrying Milky Ways or
Three Musketeers. Some carried
Whitman Chocolates, balloons,
but I didn’t care….
never asked for candy, not then,
not on those days.
Daddy said hello to everyone,
told them my name…
I smiled,
didn’t want to smile but…
I smiled for Daddy…
Daddy
would want me too.
From the corner of my eye
it was the ugly witch with a
piece of chalk I watched…
Chalk squeaking as she wrote,
sending chills up my back…

Marks appeared.
All those names with two
columns next to them – above
each step Mommy took,
recovery was first, then –
back to her room.
Everyone was getting chalk
marks, but Mommy, she
was always late, always last.

We kept sitting, waiting and
waiting. Daddy was nervous now,
talking little to people passing…
Now… watching a thin lady
carry chalk…

Daddy had feet which touched
the floor, feet that crossed and
uncrossed… Feet that tapped,
tapped, and tapped.
He assured me, soon…
Mommy would be back in her
room… so I smiled, he
always smiled back…
That witch lady never turned
our way, dam it – she knew we
were waiting; waiting for her
and that god awful hunk of white
chalk…

Each time the phone rang,
she stood… slipped over to
the board… and finally the mark
came!

My legs stopped. Daddy –
he stood up and stretched…
I just smiled, because I wanted
too.

Daddy and I - we sat in front
of that gift shop, every other
month, side by side -
together in a love seat,
waiting
side by side - waited as
the years passed us by,
together, until the day Mommy
died.

Even when my legs grew, and I
learned about nerves, I never
forgot that love seat, or the
witch lady carrying chalk…
I will never forget all the smiles,
waiting for love to survive.

Nancy Duci Denofio
@2011 all Rights Reserved
published in "What Brought You Here?" Dystenium LLC

BELOW ZERO

Below Zero

Curtains moved by
forced air; she
needed angel wings.
Television blasted
through walls: feet,
cold, skin breaking,
stockings
lost; what belonged
had disappeared.

His fingers long and
slender, his eyes
hurt, he walked and
his body jerked.

Cold feet on a
strangers bed
this angel never learned
to fly, she never
belonged, never
moved, pretending to
fall off to sleep.

He locked doors
tapped keys
a madman. His angel
lay there lifeless.

No way out - no walking
no screaming -
no strength to toss a
chair to break glass
of to fly out of a window.

Polite before drugs - he
must have given to play
games.

While the angel slept
she recalled trust, but
knew not everyone was good.

It was something in the
smile that turned him
into stone - a sick mind,
with no place else to go.

Even if her angel wings
had grown – they had no
way to bring her home.