Why I Write Poetries Part 1

She was an Indian Barbie, long curly lash And brown complexion. The hair was Perfect, shiny black and she had on a small Pink gown to cover her 36-24-36 body. Last seen, she still had on her high heeled shoes. Oh how my daughter cried, “Dolly, Dolly, Where are you?” when she found out she left, It on the basketball court’s grounds. She took It along, against her mom’s frequent reminders, When grandpa brought her with him for a walk. She cried horribly, my wife mailed me. Tears Rolling down her cheeks even as her mother Scolds, tears not for the accusatory words But for her Dolly who is gone. Gone away, Lost and probably in another child’s hands. My wife, with a guilt ridden grandpa’s idea, Told her Dolly wasn’t lost after all. In fact She was on her dolly way to dad now who Works onboard a ship, sailing far, far away So he can buy milk and nappies for small kids. “Punta sya dun kasi lungkot si Daddy di ba?” (She went there because Dad is lonely right?) She asks in between sobs of her mom, who Can only nod and kiss her on the forehead And whisper a “Yes,” the whitest of white Lies meant to comfort a grieving, sad child. Fast forward to the time I talked to my child On a long distance call, from a very public booth. She asked me if Dolly was with me, forewarned, I can only sigh a cheerful aye. “Talaga? tignan ko nga!” (Oh yeah? Let me see her then!) Of course she must have meant to talk to her. I didn’t hesitate, all so suddenly I knew what to do, Then and there I belted a falsetto, uncaring Of the Island people around me, for in that one Sparkling moment, I was talking to my child not as A father but as a long lost friend who misses her. “HAH! Helloooo Dolly, andyan ka sa barko ni Daddy?” (Hello Dolly, are you there on Daddy’s ship?) She asks me after my high pitched hello, asking with such gasped longing, with such breathless relief, with such childlike delight and innocence. Even as Eavesdroppers wonder what harm befell my balls! The rest of that dreamy conversation is lost to me now. The wonder of her tone, her concern, her yearning for Her doll is all that remains, of the father and daughter Transcending bounds of love, blasting colors and Rainbows to a gray span of reality, even for a while. ---Part 2 on my poem list please read too long to post