Let Go

The munchkin voice cries in outraged pride, “Oh Daddy! Let go! I can do it myself.”

But Daddy teaches, Daddy strong, Daddy protector, Daddy provider. And Daddy is not much beyond a child himself. His daughter, most dear, dear beyond life, totters on two wheels. The bicycle handlebars yip left then right in busy overcorrection. Daddy’s heart careens after, slamming a wall, skinning a knee, cracking a head, each swerve a secret panic.

“Oh Daddy! Let go! I can do it myself.” The dream evaporates to a lonely 3 AM awakening. The memory is decades old but the guilt is as fresh as the morning. Had he only let her fly on that day, on so many days, where would she be today?

Oh Daddy. Let go. Children do so much of it themselves.

— Yip

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Dreamland

In the night the dead arise: lost loves, broken friendships.
You among them. Well met, old friend.
We sit and speak; of what, I do not remember.
It doesn’t matter. It never did.
It is a futile love though love remains
But in dreams alone reunion.

— Yip

God of the Flies

Fruit flies share my house.
Their manna is my waste.
I kill them one by one.

They adore me, circle round me;
I clap my hands
To kill them one by one.

Seeking light for wisdom, they land.
It’s easy then
To kill them one by one.

Still they adore me and fly in my face
As if to seek the eye of God
And they die, one by one.

— Yip

Fly illustration credit: By Sanjay Acharya – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org