05 Feb What Superman Couldn’t
He carried me, his delicate flower. His sack of sugar…Little Love.
I could see further from up there. The tops of things and unreachables.
Above the things that hurt…
But I learned to walk so he let me—and the driver didn’t see.
And he scooped me up from under the car as if he himself had caused injury.
But he hadn’t. Not yet.
Light streamed into the hospital window as he held me and prayed my legs whole.
In his arms I was rocked as he sang. He could fix anything…even me.
But he carried more than me. My brothers, my sisters…my mother’s hopes.
He hefted my future piled on top of his past. The poverty and violence
Lonely boy with a drinking father…
He carried me not knowing how—having never been shown.
So, like Atlas he shrugged under it all. The pressing and staggering weight.
He let me down. But didn’t let go.
He walked with me, his budding daughter. His Jo-anna-ba-nana.
I could see things on the ground. Bugs and cracks…trampled things.
Just a man.
But more than that. The spackling of redemption, the courage in the sweat…faith in steps.
I carry my own boys now. Stacked on my past. The humble, lovely dysfunction.
The sensitive little girl with the broken father…
Who carried me because he loved me—even though he was never shown.
And like the Phoenix we rise above it all. The heartache and the madness.
Because he didn’t let go… but led me.
With brave missteps toward something better, something stronger.
It shines on the delicate flower, that trampled thing. Love which sees…up or down.