SONNET

Not knowing her father, she has lost him
again (the kind of man who will not stay).
Just long enough. After, leaving at whim.
She thinks of her lover’s hands, and what may
have been. A relationship will not be.
Her father is myth, like mermaids (never
to be found by naïve girls) or by she
who is looking. Seek and she shall tether
herself to him. She saw him once or twice,
her father. It is not quite the done thing
to talk about him now. Sometimes small mice
scurry out from under her bed, now kings
of a domain supposed to be for her.
She thinks of him and it is as a blur.