Maps of a Daughter's Memory

Thinking about my relationship with my dad.
He was me,
I was him,
We were us,
He turned me out from inside him.

We became us,
When his soft palm scrubbed my gentle hair.
We were us,
When his sponged hand tickled my tender feet.
As I clung to the tiled bathroom walls,
Giggling for the tickles that ran electrical feelings around my tiny body.
We were us, those cold dark nights when stories lapped stories,
And I decorated his back with the snow-white dusting powder.

We were us,
We are still us,
Even now that we sit on rolling chairs exchanging ideas at work.
We are still us, now that my tender feet is grown enough to match pedals in the car,
We are still us, even as I cruise him now around my memory lane;
And all we can do is to smile at those interesting maps of my memory.
Published: 6/21/2017
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