Air

My father was an air spirit

When he married my mother it was as if a bird had married a fish

To different elements and yet they could mix

He loved conversation the flow and shift of talk

His joy came from word play we listened and he taught

Being his daughter was I expected to perform

Oh how I frustrated him deviating from the norm

A fickle man my father kind but he could also cut

His words occasionally like swords

I avoided them with the charm of a fish

My gift was my tenderness

I could see he did not wish to harm

That he had been hurt in his turn

And had never learned the art of love