"Swing me, Daddy! Swing me!"
Red canvas shoes bound across the linoleum floor.
A gentle tug at the knee of your pants
Makes you look down to the halo of golden curls,
Whose shine cannot compare
To the radiant glow emanating from that little round face.
A single glance into its greenish-brown gems
Discloses your weakness for a little girl's plea.
The gems sparkle anew as big, rough hands encircle tiny wrists.
With a silent heave the shoes take flight,
While shrieks of delight accompany the exhilaration
Of soaring through the air
At the end of Daddy's outstretched arms.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.