She sits at my feet
playing with American Girl dolls
and I wonder
what kind of man am I?
The radio plays Ishman's theme
from October Sky
as she converses with her nostalgic friends.
Tears flood my eyes.
I've been traveling, almost nine days in a row
and I've missed her so, this house, these dolls.
Earlier this morning she asked her mother
am I more like you or Dad?
I want to believe there's still such a thing
as American girls,
not just global citizens.
What kind of man am I
that prefers film scores to hip hop,
October skies to July's pomp,
and staying put?
I pray she's most like herself.