WRITING FOR AIR

Like This

When my daughter says Daddy a certain way,
as if tiptoeing my name into the ocean
to find out how warm I am,
I know what’s coming.
A game of What if My Name Was?
or Can You Do This?
No, Not Like That, I said
Like This.

Whatever she does next,
her headstand from a crooked tripod,
that folded guru yoga pose
no one should be able to do,
I twist, gyrate, and contort
with her,
burning to shape This into
memory.