Dad

He swings me between trees in a gray blanket that waits in the trunk just for these moments.
“Shunik, do you want me to make you a swing?”
He ties the four corners of the blanket with ropes between two trees,
and I swing between a childhood dream and a bloodstained outstretched hand.
Between blood and bravery.

I’m my daddy’s girl.
He takes me fishing.
To the sea.
I almost drown.
He saves me.

Between rabbits and lions,
he does tricks for me.
Calls me Shunik,
“Come, I’ll make you a horse.
Should I draw you a man on a horse with a pipe?”