I really meant to listen to you tell that story AGAIN
About how you wanted dimples so badly when you were little
That you would hold pencil erasers in the spots you wanted them
And try to make them yourself.
I wish I hadn’t been so annoyed that you had already told me this story five times that morning.
I really meant to consider how one day
I would long to hear you tell it one more time.
I really meant to be more patient, not so busy washing the clothes and tidying the mess
Ready to move on, move on, move on to the next thing.
I really meant to sit out on the porch more. To look out at the birds with you.
It was so hard: you being there, but not there. And I just did the best I could.
I really meant to hold my temper, not to criticize and nitpick so many little things.
Instead, to tell you: “you are such a good boy, and you, a precious girl, full of life and spirit.”
To let you just be yourself, to say you don't need to like what they like, or dress like they dress.
I really meant to get off my phone more.
To sit on the floor and just watch you two play.
Not because it was funny and would be a cute video.
But because it was sacred and fleeting, your little hands slipping through my fingers.
Now I reach and they are bigger than mine.
And busy, busy...playing guitar or drawing.
Out of our little back yard and out into the world.
I wonder what else I really meant to do or say or treasure
To kiss you more
To lock eyes and listen
To sit out on the deck and watch the stars together.
And things I don’t yet know that I will miss:
The red robe.
The sound of gameshows in the background.
Endless questions.
Guitar blasting late at night.
Water on the sink, the floor.
Clothes and dishes left behind.
A mess,
Or a measure of these people I have for just a time.
Those long days stretched out, seeming to be endless
How I wished them away.
Then gone, like a breath
And I'm longing for one more moment
Of chaos, presence, smiles, meltdowns, drudgery.
I really meant to
