I can almost hear the sound of the mailbox,
feel the gravel driveway beneath my feet
as I raced inside to call you.
“I got accepted to…” I squealed,
so excited to share the little successes
as they arrived 30 years ago,
before college, graduation, the accident.
There would have been hundreds more, Dad.
The headlines and the heartbreaks.
The business, a Company of the Year,
now 22 years, can you imagine?
The new house — my own.
The trip to France at 40.
The first published poem. The book!
Dad, I wrote a book last year…
and fell in love!
I’m pretty sure I would have called you,
that very first day, “Dad, I met…”
and told you everything, like I always do —
only quietly now, as words on paper,
and moonlight whispers.
©2015, Jen Payne