With one last slurp, almost victorious,

You finished your breakfast

offered the empty bowl,

a smile wide as and as bright as the sun.

 

“Can we go now, Dad?”

Not yet: teeth, hair,

sunscreen, hat.

You agreed so gladly

it felt like a game.

 

Backpack bouncing,

we walked the half mile.

I held your hand,

so small, so breakable,

yet sure in my grip.

 

You skipped beside me,

smiling again and again,

until across the field

your friends appeared.

 

“Can I go, Dad?”

You ran,

little sparrow legs running so fast,

then you stopped,

turned,

and gave me that smile,

one last wave,

bright as forever.

 

I waved back,

swallowed down tears,

So full of pride,

So full of love.

 

Thirty years later

I would give everything

to walk beside you once more,

to hold your hand,

to catch that smile

One more time,

Please, just once more.