If I could turn the clock back, father

If I could turn the clock back, father,
I would take us back
to those Saturday afternoons at home.
The laughter over lunch.
The carefree chatter.
The loving banter.
The taking to task
for not eating my greens.

I would wipe my two year old nose
again on your handkerchief,
demand the first morsel
of your breakfast,
cry while you pretended
to fall off the bed.
I would not scrub your kiss
off my cheeks  with soap
this time.
I'd sleep peacefully as you sang
the only lullaby that is truly mine--
sleep my princess, my darling.

I'd wake up earlier
in the mornings
to watch you and mother
have your tea and read the newspaper.
I would fetch you the flowers
for your morning worship.
I would carry your bag to the car.
Or watch you drive off the corner.

I would sit next to you
and talk. I so want to listen.
I was so shy father
to share with you
my daily life.
To unburden myself
of all I truly thought or felt.
To tell you
I looked up to you.
I knew you were always there.

If I could turn the clock back, father,
I would write you more letters from the hostel,
Cook your favourite meals,
Sit quietly on the swing with you.
Smile at you sometimes.
Do whatever you'd ask me to do.
You would know you were special.
No one could step into your shoes.
I would have held your hand
a last time, father,
I would have hugged you tight.
I would have uttered those
three simple words, father
that we make so difficult
for ourselves
to say all our lives.

All the coins you heaped
in the drawer, just for me,
have blossomed into
the jasmine you loved.
I wait for you in the darkened balcony, father
As once you did when I was late.
Just once, only once, turn the corner
and come home, father.