FOOTPRINTS

I pretend

Dando is walking alongside me,

holding my hand,

helping me through this.

I pretend

to see his footprints,

long,

shaped like flattened leaves,

marking the sand,

setting down a path

for my own small

feet

to follow.

I pretend

Dando is here,

stepping heavily,

heel-toe,

heel-toe,

leading me,

lovingly.

I pretend

so, so hard,

with my whole

heart.

But it’s fruitless.

This so-hard pretending

doesn’t work.

My father’s footprints,

nowhere.