© Kurt | Dreamstime Stock Photos She waits patiently across from her father Restlessly fingering a delicate blue album, Precious memories of their family, When he was her father and she still his daughter. It used to bring their home comfort. Now it stares out at them, damning and cold. The tile beneath their feet breathes cold, And she is reminded of her father. She wishes he would – or could – comfort Her – rewind, repeat then put it in the album. She longed for him to see her as his daughter, The missing piece in his fractured family. But two shattered pieces don’t make a whole family. Even when warm outside, their home sits cold. She plays the dutiful daughter And he the doting father Smiling faces to fill the delicate blue album. They know it is a simple comfort, To a mother who fakes comfort In a precious heirloom blanket while her family Falls apart to the soundtrack of a Beatles album. It skips through “Let it Be” leaving her cold And wanting just one moment more, with a father Who can’t whisper words of wisdom to his daughter. And so she wonders if any daughter Could possibly bring warmth and comfort To this lonely man called father. She wonders if every family Sits together, in their kitchen – a Cold War brewing over an old tattered album. She wants to scream, “It’s just an album, But I am your daughter!” But in this house desperate cries fall on cold Ears. She knows she should stop seeking comfort In the arms of her frigid family. Home, she learned, was further, not her father. Home was tucked away in an album that couldn’t comfort, And this cold house was all she knew of family – A daughter sitting silently across the table from her father.