Coloring Book

Perhaps he joined me long ago to color in the Lennon sisters

or the Barbie dolls within the thick and muslin-hued pages
of a book of outlines waiting for the flesh to grow beneath
the ivory crayon, the periwinkle eyes, plain brown for hair
(a stickler, even then, for honesty). But more than likely he did not
have time with lesson plans to write, or garden needing weeding,
getting ready for a fishing trip that we would take, just he, my sister, and myself.

Today, I sat with Daddy, so unsure of where he was or what was going on,
and opened up the book I bought at Ollie's (such a bargain!) with
the scenes of Paris and around the world. And though I hadn't
planned it, as he etched the Eiffel Tower on the one page, I began
to color in a city scape upon the opposite, while feeling good that for a
span of time, just that, he wasn't troubled or confused, but coloring,
his little girl and he, the time he'd spent on other things so long ago
apparently available, held
in trust, against this afternoon.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2017