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TITLE: Daddy's Little Run-Away
By Lynda Olson
10/14/05
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Well, this is the first poem I've posted, so be gentle. ( : (Not that you wouldn't anyway. ( : )I actually just wrote this poem tonight, so I guess it's in its early stages (although I kind of like it how it is). We just recently found out that my dad has Hodgkins lymphoma, and this poem was born of the emotions I've felt related to that.
Memories of my childhood
are all sunshine
and no snow
evidenced by the fact
that I can't let go--
had such a wonderful youth
I'm always looking back
at random pleasant events
hanging in my mind
like photographs suspended in the air,
many of you
such as when you taught me how to grasp
the fat, red, plastic bat
and make contact with the ball

or when I'd sit and watch you type,
waiting patiently for a try
to strike
a key for you,
which you always let me do
with a smile

or when we'd sit in your room
with mom
and sing "Big Girls Don't Cry"
and other Four Seasons songs
on the curtain-colored bed spread

or when we'd watch you play guitar
with a smile and sing
"Snoopy and the Red Barron"
and wail, "I wa-wa-wa-wa-wonder...why"
to "My Little Run-away."

And now I want to be a little run-away
and track a path
back to those days.
Why does it seem to me
that typewriter keys
are still the stuff of dreams
and the Four Seasons are a big band again?
Why do I want to leap
into those floating photos?
Because they are YOU
and your enormous love for me
and safety I receive
from my "daddy."

So, every chance I get
in this ridiculously busy life,
I track the only path I can
on the highway to your house
and stand right next to those memories...
YOU are those typewriter keys
and the Four Seasons songs,
the stuff of dreams--
I have what I need.

Please don't make this big girl cry--
Don't leave today.
Don't say goodbye.
Maybe when you're 80,
but now is not the time,
and I believe
you have many years to see.
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