Daddy’s girls live on Daddy’s toes
Swollen mushrooms shoved daily into muddy shoes.
Feel so tall, like they could trace the popcorn on the sky
And hungry with desperate hands
and clenching air
Daddy’s girls are taken by eighth notes
Air alight with neon sonic verse.
Feel so ethereal, like glass slippers and clocks striking twelve
And pride with shaking hands
Calloused palms embracing the camera recorder.
Daddy’s girls enter alternate worlds beneath cotton throws
Eyes wide open and waterfalls raging.
Feel so wishful, like lightly stepping on lake ice
And self comforting with bright red hands
Daddy’s girls cannot leave on daddy’s toes
Leave Daddy inside white walls beneath white sheets.
Feel so lost, like a toddler suffocated by mirrors
And clutching Mommy’s weak hands
Departing from the departed, only his phone
and his glasses
and his keys
in the car.
Daddy’s girls exist like browning vines
Do all they can to stay alive and evade nourishment.
Feel so parasitic, like the thing itself that did the taking
And porcelain hands gift Daddy with flowers
Tracing his name
and tracing his name
BayLee Wetzel is a senior majoring in English with a double minor in Creative Writing and Spanish. She enjoys reading and writing poetry and works of fiction, and she one day hopes to have published novels upon novels. When not writing, BayLee spends time with her family and cats, plays video games, or scrolls for too long on TikTok.