To Dad Poem by Samah Khan

A creak as the gear falls into place
And then a protest from the screeching wheels-
Off we go: I, the midget twitching compulsively in the backseat,
He, the giant with the shiny midnight boots.
A storm rumbles in the backdropp as the engines get to work
And I cover my ears with pink palms, crinkling my nose and squinting against
The glare of morning.

Mother packed a hefty lunch, though we said we'd be back by two-
But she turned to us a deaf ear as mothers often do;
And along the winding paths that narrowed down to slits in my obscure brain,
I saw the green grass wave at me as it danced in the wind:
Inclined and disinclined
Inclined and disinclined
In a joyous cycle that repeats history.

I remember that weekend like any other,
Where my father and I frolicked aimlessly, poking fun at each other,
Playing with blocks or bricks or pebbles-
And here is where I learnt the best lessons of my life-
From the serene ducks that waded about in the greying pond
To the hint of rain that sometimes touched the ground in the health of July.

Here is where my father sat me down and taught me to cross my legs
As we pondered the many mysteries of life-
Here is where I was duly chastised for all wrong,
And robustly praised for all right-
Here, among the weeds and the shrubs and the boulders
And the songs of bopping birds and the foxtrot of the squirrels
And the titters of the toddlers and the toddling of the trekkers-
Here, is where I was bequeathed the divine knowledge
That will become legacy in time.

And now, a decade forth, I miss him-
He is still here but perhaps I am not.
Perhaps, in my inevitable search for self
And a definition for my identity
I have left him behind;
In my haste to flower and bear fruit,
I have forgotten the seed from whence I came,
The seed that gave me stem and root,
The seed that bore my weight (sans distinction) from that of a wispy stalk
To the tree which I aim to become.

I have left him behind,
Somewhere between the carefree childhood
And the pursuit of individuality-
But on days when sooty clouds loom overhead
And nothing seems eternal or enduring-
I can walk to the park in the middle of the day
And bask in the protective shade of my father's shadow
Imprinted upon the white picket fence.