“Daddy, what is that?” She asked.
She was pointing to the island known as Alcatraz.
They were mid-span about the waters and the gulls.
“What is that?” She asked, this time
pointing to the long gray structure
known as the Bay Bridge.
“What are those?” She said,
pointing to the high rise spires of the city.
“And over there!”
Pointing to the sails, the ships, the boats
that passed gracefully below them.
“Where is our house?” She asked.
“Can we see it from here?” She said,
with little understanding.
The bay breeze whipped through her clothes,
the city lights, the city streets, shining like a promise.
“It is time to fly, Little One.” Her father told her
as he raised her slowly to his arms
and lifted gently.
He raised her above the railing.
He pushed her away quickly and sent her over the side.
He watched the surprise in her eyes as she sped down,
down to the dull green bay waters,
she flew down then sank from sight.
“I’ll be there soon.” He said as he wrestled with the railing
and tossed himself over,
tossed himself over,
toward the comfort of the swells,
and deep into their final moment.
(Based on an article from the San Francisco Chronicle)