I don't remember the sun smiling bright on sweet summer peaches

dripping down from my chin; times when daddy rubbed mama's

crown and said, "Baby it'll be okay."

I don't remember piggyback rides on Sunday afternoons, behaving

foolish like Oscar and Felix, amusing ourselves with silly gag gifts for mama.

I don't remember his answers to my quizzical stares. I don't

remember if he ever told me "I love you." I don't remember friends

celebrating because their dad scored a new promotion.

Mothers left defenseless and frail from winters

long hours of decreasing light, boys trying to fill fathers' shoes.

... If he knew that my first tottering steps needed less attention than now would he come home?

I don't remember if he watched me from the auditorium seats accept my diploma.

I don't remember why he wasn't there for my first train ride.

And I don't want to remember riding the LIRR with him, to her house, kissing

her cheek, holding her hand.

William Briscoe is a fourth-year dance student.

Students interested in submitting works for this column should contact Ron Price in the Liberal Arts Department at ext. 368, or by e-mail (ronprice@juilliard.edu).

Students interested in submitting works for this column should contact Ron Price in the Liberal Arts Department at etc. 368, or by e-mail (ronprice@juilliard.edu)