#unsure why my brain interprets this as good poetry

[xxvainqueur]

take these broken wings

Nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold.

So Eden sank to grief. So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. Nothing gold can stay? Yeah. It’s true. I love that one. Baby, I don’t get it... He was exploring the theme felix culpa? Christ, it’s not that complicated. Well, damn, I’m sorry I don’t get why gold is worthless. Shit, Salome, that why you asked for Herod’s head instead of money? Hilarious. This is why I don’t do this. You make jokes instead of thinking about what it’s trying to tell you! Why do you insist on listening to my poetry books when you never understand? Why’re you gettin’ mad at me again? Because you don’t get it. You never do. It’s so goddamn frustrating to have a husband who can’t even understand a damn poem! I’m sorry... I’m tryin’, okay? ‘Cause-- Yeah, you love me. I know. But you still don’t get it. You never do.  But I want to. Explain it. Please? I wanna know. What it means. And what it means to you. I’ve tried before, and it’s a waste of time. Figure it out on your own, Sams.

Eventually, once it was far too late, the poem made sense. One can’t keep precious things forever. It’s not always gold. Sometimes it’s something like... smoky quartz.

When that shade of brown had him bust out laughing for no reason. Sal had quirked a brow, knowing better than to ask why he had been purposefully reading a book on precious stones, and not really caring to know anyway that a full-blown image had caught his eye. Still, his wife had to know which one was the precise shade of her eyes. 

Later on, while gently clasping her limp wrist in one hand, he fastened the gift bought months in advance around her wrist. That prior talk over the stone was one he had become exceedingly grateful for, despite Sal’s annoyance at the time. Dr. Ramirez's downtrodden admittance earlier in the day that Sal’s brain activity was becoming sparse meant Samson was unsure whether enough of her was in there to even remember that conversation. 

So he started talking. Told her smoky quartz was now his all-time favorite gemstone. That when he looked at it, he could almost pretend it was her looking back. That he knew her vanity more than anyone, which is why he’d laughed at finding the perfect birthday present right in front of her in that book. That when she woke up, she would love the compliments given over her bracelet matching her eyes perfectly. 

Even the mundane was brought up. That the sheer amount of poetry books surrounding the hospice room as he carefully pored through them page-by-page was something even Sal herself would call excessive. That he was still trying to understand that damn Frost one, but it remained elusive no matter how many times he read it. 

Then he quietly murmured a birthday wish and reminded her her loved her. Leaning over the breathing tube to kiss her forehead, he had curled up on the far-too-small cot to take his first nap in days. He had fallen asleep whilst the gemstone reflected in the terrible lighting and dreamed nightmares tinted that same familiar hue.

From that day on, smoky quartz encompassed his entire existence. It seemed to be everywhere. The mud coating his shoes the day she was put in the ground.   The necklace that had been part of Sal’s surprise birthday gift that now hung from his stepdaughter’s neck as he stood hand-in-hand with her, neither one mentioning the matching bracelet going into the ground with Sal herself. The eyes of pure fury looking up at him from the pink bassinet while his tiny daughter cried her lungs out in protest during what he imagined were shows of frustration over why formula was suddenly in her bottle. Samson figured any normal baby would scream over a cold turkey switch from the breast milk one had solely known from birth, but he was at a loss when it came to getting his child to drink the substitute. Sal was the one who knew how to deal with babies--not him.) The dust jacket of the book Callie angrily tossed across the room with the answering crack that had made him jump in place, sinking to her bedroom floor with his head buried in his hands as he contemplated how please watch your sister for the night had become his continual refrain for the past month. The hot chocolate she had brought him when she apologized, taking Amita from his arms and replacing it with the steaming cup before sending him on his way. The notebook paper anonymously slipped under his office door by one of his boys that politely inquired why he hadn’t gone home in over two weeks. 

It was everywhere and nowhere. There was no escape.

Home was as good, and empty, as anywhere else.

As the weeks went by, Dada became his daughter’s new favorite thing to repeat over and over. If Callie was correct, it was actually her first one as well. Still, Amita never seemed to connect what it signified. For all she knew, it was her toy dragon or the blankie she refused to sleep without. Samson knew she was thoroughly unaware of who Dada actually was. Until she did. Baby sign language had been something Sal had insisted their daughter grow up knowing, and he had grown used to interpreting what the few simple gestures meant. When Amita signed to be picked up, he obliged and knew she really wanted what Callie had created. Called “Tager Cuddles Remix”, the basics entailed bouncing Amita on your knees, singing her favorite songs, and clapping those chubby hands together to the beat. Callie’s twist was to sometimes play along on her keyboard, letting her sister explore the keys until it became a tuneless cacophony. Since musical talent was something he sorely lacked, his own special touch was to fit her name in wherever he could.

 “Mita singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly, Mita, all your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise, Mita, Mita--”

It all happened so fast. She stopped bouncing in his lap. His head tilted in confusion. She reached one tiny hand up and touched his cheek. He smiled wide enough she was left poking dimples instead. He sang out her name over and over. She... did the same? Dada. Dada. Dada.

People say it all the time. So-and-so took my breath away. But a common expression feels less common when it’s a tangible emotion. He couldn’t breathe. It simply didn’t happen. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, oxygen joined the party once more and brought with it the power of speech. Touching one fingertip to her chest, he hesitantly spoke up. “Amita.” Mimicking his gesture, the tiny child shifted forward on his lap so her entire palm could flatten against his chest. “Daddy.” He stared at her for a good minute or so. She stared right back. 

“Amita.” “Daddy.” “Amita.” “Daddy.”

She understood; she finally understood. And so did he. Those brown eyes of hers that used to hurt to look at instead brought a wave of love that hit him hard enough he started crying. It confused her enough that she started pounding on his chest with one tiny fist.

“Daddy?” “Babygirl. I’m... Daddy’s so sorry he left you here alone. Hear me? I’m so sorry, Mita. I love you. I love you so much.” “Daddy.”

He hadn’t realized his hug had become tighter until she started hitting again, this time focused on his shoulder. While he loosened his hold, he leaned down to kiss her hair over and over. All he wished was that Sal was there too to see he had proven her wrong; he had learned. 

Sometimes it isn’t gold. Sometimes it’s the chocolate curls and smoky quartz eyes of little girls that are the colors precious enough nature herself can’t bear to lose. But this gold was now there to stay as long as he could keep her. Samson would never let go again--Frost be damned.

Somehow he thought Salome might just grant him an exception on that one.