Sometimes,
on special occasions,
at the end
of a show,
Rutherford
would bring me
and Storm on stage
in front of
tens of thousands
of screaming fans
and introduce us
as his little
superheroes.
Then he would
let her sing
any song
she wanted:
“Twinkle, Twinkle,”
“This Little Light,”
and while she
wailed, mostly off-key,
he’d strum,
with his right hand,
a melody for her.
And with his left,
he’d massage
my head,
which was his way
of saying I love you
and Everything’s
gonna be okay.
I believed him,
despite
all our madness.
And, I guess
I still do.