55th edit of "Father"

My father used to lift me up
onto a brick wall
that anchored our patio,
so I could watch silver beasts
slip shiny ribbon
miles away.

The sweep of his hand,
brought their bellies
overhead.
And he willed
that my little body stand,
against the beasts' roar.

For him
they made the wind
I breathed,
an explosion
I could not resist.

© 2002 Catnapping