In Memory Poem

Watching Daddy Shave

A scent remains her a of long forgotten moment spent with her father.

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Daddy's Little Girl


Published: February 2006

Waiting patiently to enter the bathroom.
The doorknob at my eye level...finally unlocks.
Daddy lets me in...knowing...I don't need to be in there.
I just want to be in there, with HIM.
He wipes the misty mirror to see.
His Daddy smell is all in the steam,
from his soap on a rope that we got him for Christmas.
I watch in silent anticipation.
He shaves, then rinses the last of the fluffy white cream from his face.
He picks up the bottle from the shelf (the one with the ship on it)
that came with the soap on a rope that we got him for Christmas.
He splashes the aftershave with slaps and taps all over his face.
He leans down for me to inspect and I place an approving kiss on it.
Old Spice, nothing smells like it.
Now, I'm grown and alone, in the store, shopping for Christmas.
I get a whiff, from an old man standing by.
I want to cry and I want to buy some soap on a rope,
with the bottle with the ship on it.
I want my Daddy back alive.
I want to, again to be that size.
The little girl, eye level to the doorknob.
I take a moment.
Just one more sniff.
So I can walk away with my memories of,
Daddy's smell and Daddy's Little Girl!



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