to my father - first draft

I miss the stories
of angels bowling
late at night
when I was full of fright
back when your voice
was a song.

I miss finding patterns
in raindrops
as you remind me
one of the angels
is my grammy
winning
just for me.

I miss being afraid
that lightning
was my biggest threat.
I miss the thunder
being the only boom
that made me shudder.

I miss the days
morning dew
would dampen my clothes
as I lay in the grass
and the rainy night’s ghost
smelled of safety.

I miss the rain
descending from the sky
creating puddles
on the pavement,
soaking my socks
rather than having moisture
creep from my eyes,
exposing the mask
I started using
to hide
from you.

I miss when your words
were the shelter
shielding me
from the storm
rather than the lightning bolts
you used
to hurt me.