Song

When in all of it were you? In the living room, after the baby blessing. Sandra offered everyone third helpings of carrot cheesecake, Lewis called the dog over to mask a fart. You were massaging my calves. I was pregnant with Sarah. Was there a moment, or a sequence of them, before my father unvalved his falsetto, when your hearing quickened? You, so present. Your presence. I was almost embarrassed of your showing off, the toonish stride of your fingers along our secret and collective need. What possessed you to crawl the rug, rise to his aided ear and whisper whatever password you were given. And in what language, willing him to do the thing we hadn’t known to wish for, rubbing our four frail childhoods with that warm and golden balm? Like a guileless hook looping madly through the room to catch between Dad’s breasts and make him sing.

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Claire Denton lives in Franklin, Nebraska.