Secret Place

Her newly painted nails gripped

the fresh pressed cloth

of my rental tuxedo’s sleeve,

pulling me back into the moment;

my daughter,

my baby,

“Let’s take these steps slow”

I whispered to her

as we follow the white runner

leading to our friends, family, and the Priest

ready for the ceremony,

marking the moment of my release

from my daughter’s side.

I kiss her softly on her cheek.

Using joy as her disguise,

her anxiety begins to rise

as she reaches right back into my eyes

reassuring me,

“You will always be my daddy.”

- My grip remains strong as I take a step back.

My hands wish

they were still caught in her lace,

flowing from the sleeves of her special wedding gown.

I finally release stepping back into my place

and tell her “I Love You”

A million times over - never looking down,

to capture her  focused blue eyes

 one more time.

The Priest begins his lines,

I hear him welcome everyone as we celebrate the union. . .

and feel myself muffled

under the heavy cloak of nostalgia.

I let myself go back to her childhood front yard,

running through the grass in her stained sundress;

we thought we could make it last,

but she couldn’t care less

as she pranced around

with no one needing impressed,

trying to catch butterflies.

- really just an excuse to prance.

Her golden hair

rises with the effortless air,

revealing her halo among the lighted wisps

as the sun envelopes

my little girl.

I feel the sun on my face, my lips,

and she took my hand showing me secret place

after secret place

where I’ve spent hours

behind a mower, walking an even pace.

She’s seen the little details;

A caterpillar, an anthill, a rock,

and beside her I now walk,

learning of the unseen

through her eyes,

and we become alike as mine begin to beam.

Rediscovering secret place after secret place,

until she sees the butterfly,

and returns to the chase.

At once they all stand, applauding.

My daughter beside her husband,

A crowd beyond them, some bawling,

cameras flashing, pews cleared,

and I move behind my little girl,

tears catching in my neatly trimmed beard.

I take her attention to detail

like that day in our front yard,

seeing every tiny step as she sways,

embraces,

smiles,

gazes,

and stalls to wave.

I’ll always be ready to move in

the instant she starts to fall.

I’ll have to remember to show her one day,

of my new secret place,

no longer beside,

but standing behind her with strength and grace.

Just in case.

- Jordan R Shaver