Watch Me

I remember as a little girl

Playing and learning

And being me.

I’d hurdle some new level of life;

I’d call to my Dad,

“Daddy, watch me!”

Dad did the best he could.

Now as a parent, myself, I know.

But without putting the paper down,

He would shake his foot at me

And wiggle his toes,

And say, “My big toe is watching.

My big toe sees.”

My eyes would cast down

And very quietly,

“Watch me Daddy,” I’d say again.

The page dipped as it turned,

But the eyes never showed.

Maybe that’s why I fall so hard

For someone who will

Look deeply into my eyes—

For someone genuinely interested

In where I’m going,

And where I’ve been.

Maybe that’s why

I’ve such a sensitive spot

That senses detachment

From a mile away.

I crave good company,

Or at least a good audience,

One that will applaud me

While I play.

-jenn long