Her little hands were lost in his big ones.
When they walked, she always reached for his.

He showed her how to interlace them
and she showed him how hard she could squeeze.

But then they grow up
and it’s embarrassing to hold your dad’s hand in public,
or anywhere.

He doesn’t tuck you in anymore,
for fear of stepping into a pubescent girl’s lair.

The precious little girls and daddies become small figments of the world’s imagination.
Shadowing reality and left in the corners of a great big mind.

They are memories as fragile as her first curl and her first word.
Her tears and her laughter.
Her first night away from home.
Her first date.
And then she’s left the nest. Flying on her own.

And all that’s left is a daddy watching his little girl
spiral into adulthood much too quickly.

Take me back to monsters in my closet, tickle fights, and hide and go seek.

Show me all the daddies and their daughters
And tell me that somewhere out there, they’re still the same.