“Can you, or I, Ever fly?” I asked my Dad.
“Sure son, go ahead and try.” His hazel eyes sparkle at me with hidden mirth.
I flap my hands like a bird’s wing,
Swinging them in big smooth archs,
My hands hitting my sides with the effort of a kid who wants to get off of the ground and see the sky.
I look at my amused Father,
“It wont work!” I flap my hands because of irritation this time,
Hitting my sides with painful slaps.
“Listen here, son.” My Dad bends down in front to me with a smile upon his face.
“People aren’t ‘posed to fly, son.
We were built to stay on the ground,
Never meant to leave this earth like them birds you see.”
My Father soothes my irritations by rubbing down my ebony hair much like his own.
“Look here.” He points to my wrist and forearm,
Showing me veins upon my arm,
Snaking up to my shoulder, up under my pale skin.
“We have shackles. Never meant to fly,
Never meant to leave this ground,
Never meant to see the sky, OK?”
I look into upon my Dad’s face and I see a man who is wise,
And I see a man who is far older than I.
“Okay, Dad.”
“You understand?”
“sure.” I nod my head. The memory fades to black, and I smile……