My First Sestina

For Daddy

I remember sitting on your lap at home,
reading picture books, hand in hand.
I can see now that you were always leading me towards
something greater than yourself, so someday you could wave
goodbye, thinking about how much you love me from the doorway.
It’s always such a difficult thing to just stand by and watch.

I liked to help you pick out wristbands for your watches,
and go with you to Lowe’s where I could hide in the fake kitchens and play home.
You’d always find me, standing in the hollow doorways.
We’d laugh and smile and you’d take me by the hand,
and we’d leave happy. I’d wave
at the employees as we took each step towards

home. I like to live in these memories, but I can’t help look towards
the future. I can’t help but hear the ticking of your watch,
reminding me that someday I’ll watch you waving
as I leave the place that I call home.
I wonder how I’ll function without the comfort of your hand
each time I walk into a house that isn’t yours through a hollow doorway.

I like to still go to Lowe’s with you and hide in the doorways,
but now I see that people aim funny looks towards
us because we still leave hand in hand.
It’s funny how the older I get, the more people watch
us, but they no longer smile when I wave.

Sometimes I want to cry when I see you waving,
because I know that no one has ever loved me so much, watching me from a doorway.
I want to cry because I don’t like to leave you and my home.
I try to console myself, knowing that with each step I’m moving towards
an independent life, a successful life, but I wish you were here to watch
me grow. I wish you could be here to hold my hand.

Maybe I’ll find someone who will hold my hand
as well as you do, and it will look more appropriate so people will smile again when I wave.
Maybe I’ll help him pick out wristbands for his watches,
and hide in hollow doorways.
Maybe he and I will get to move together towards
that independent life, that successful life, and we can make our own home.

But for now I’m stuck watching you stand in the doorway,
with your slippers on, hand outstretched, waving,
as I drive towards a house that I refuse to call home.