LETTING GO OF DADDY'S GIRL
by David Memmott
for Liesle at nineteen
You shred the maps I made
ignore the signs I erected
to mark your way down roads I paved
insisting on blazing your own trail
through all the wild places
full of danger and adventure
I tell cautionary tales about
Bluebeard and his wives
as you hunker down under night sky
in your mummy bag
inviting curious visitations
while I stand guard
A wounded warrior comes
shuttling across space in bent light
seeking some goddess to absorb
his pain, his spirit low, his breath
so soft on the leaves
they don't even rustle
as he abducts the sweet little girl
that danced in front of the bandstand
the little ball of energy
who turned somersaults in the grass
after we'd all lost count
leaving in her place
this willful, stubborn woman
What comes does not come for me
for I have shuffled past
too many open doors
doors that let the bent light through
doors I forgot to close
A heaviness overcomes me
I drop off into dream
hear your alto voice echoing
from where a plasma of light
lifts you up in a bubble boat
drifting off beyond the horizon
with me trailing behind
holding onto the lifeline
dragged along the ground
like an anchor
David Memmott is a Rhysling Award winner and author of four books of poetry. He has recently published in Strange Horizons , Deer Drink the Moon: Poems of Oregon, and High Desert Journal . His first novel, Primetime, a postcyberpunk satire, was published by Wordcraft of Oregon.