by Manu L

Created on: June 04, 2008   Last Updated: March 17, 2009

Bent over the little tables, the little children

are intent on making

The perfect gift. On carving

the perfect bowl, the lovely box.

Father's day is approaching.

Tangible excitement in the classroom

And concentration.

Cut,cut, paste, carve, shave, glue, stitch.

The brown box for daddy's spare change.

Twenty five boxes for delighted daddies

All imperfect and beautiful,

unique and made with love.

My daddy didn't get the box in my first year of school

Or in the second.

He was gone for good, too soon, too fast.

My little box was there, pretty and empty.

A tangible reminder of my loss and my sorrow

Child's sorrow at being alone, without a reassuring presence

To hug and to chide.

My little box was there, pretty and empty.

It went to my gofather instead and was used many years

Was cherished and loved,

Just like me.

And my daddy, though not there,

Would talk every now and then, softly

Filling my spirit with courage and sadness.

Every now and then, my heart breaks with an odd gladness

The little box is still here, on a desk, filled with spare change,

Still pretty, not empty.

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