Thursday, May 26, 2016


John Brewster Jr., "Comfort Starr Mygatt and His
Daughter Lucy
," 1799

The arc made as the swing approaches apogee;
another, as the child lets go and flies away, off
a plastic seat and into the air, laughing, landing
like a circus acrobat, tumbling on down the soft
grassy hill. “Daddy, push me higher!” and how
he always would, fathers are like that. Joy in an
aerialist’s giggle, joy when tossing the child up
to touch the clouds, and the saddest joy, when
all the childhood leaving becomes real. Later, so
much later if we’re lucky, joy in sadness—we’ll
hold our breath, our tears, each other when the
daddy flies off into the same sky where we once
flew. No wind; the sky blue as a jay feather, the
daddy light as a cloud, as he gently floats away.

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