when i was seven or eight
you took me up up on an airplane
and woke me up when the clouds had cleared and the world could be seen
you pointed out the window down to sea
then when we were on a subway
somewhere far off in flanders fields maybe
and i left my backpack on the train
and i thought the world would end
but you forgave me
and the kindness of a stranger brought it back to us
and so i slept tangled in my stuffed animals and cd walkman
you woke up me up for breakfast
cmon dad
we played gin rummy on the hotel bed
and if i wanted you could call home so i could hear my
sister’s voice but i only needed to one night
we laughed until the sun came up (it felt like)
then we walked down crossing canals like old explorers
to the museum full of shipwrecks and old bones
and seeing a skeleton i burst into unconsolable tears
cmon dad
remember turning back onto our street
singing to josh ritter on cd
coming home from showing me the world
and yeah i cried a couple times
and you thought maybe you had pushed this little kid too far
but my eyes were wide and wet and shining
and they still are
when i look around
yes i'm happy just to be here
but i still can't believe you
knew all this and said there might as well be more
more of us, more of them,
more little kids and more loose ends
more of us, more of them,
more little kids to wet the bed
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