I Wanted: A Poem for my Son

There are many things I wanted, but the storms came to pass. 

I could not predict their form, their time, 

or how long each would last.  

In August, drivers leave their houses before the owls are done

with the hunting  in the darkness cast

when they pull up to their yellow bus.

In the beginning, I shed many tears until the desert season 

when I understood she was gone, was flying, 

but I still searched for a reason.

In early August, football grounds are only green until cleats christen

them during the preseason

when sweat and blood bring back that smell to the locker room.

There are many things I wanted, but August brings another year

without a first day picture of my daughter when

all I want is to see her here. 

Parents get their phones as pink and purple paint the sky, and

beg for a smile to appear

On their children’s faces before they return to school.

In the car, my son says, “I wanted Corrie to see me on every birthday.”

I look out of the window trying forget a tornado, death, and cancer,

and remember how to pray.

He says, “I wanted Corrie to see me get married,” and I can’t speak

when God had all the say.

“I wanted her to see me grow old,” he says. 

There are many things you want, son, and they are things I cannot give. 

I’ve wished to stare into dark spaces, but people call my name, and say,

“We need you here to strive.” 

I still scream in nightmares, and keep them from you because

I need you to live 

with all that you have in you 

because Corrie wants you here.

I want my daughter back, but I’ve had to learn how to speak in a voice

people still recognize as my own. 

I laugh again by my own choice

because Corrie would want me to live like the sky rains glitter

and find reasons to rejoice.

That’s the thing about glitter; you can never get it out.