Long after David finished speaking,
his words were like an echo that followed me,
for they had nestled themselves in the folds of my brain.

He was Professor Dalton to all who knew him,
but David to those who loved him.
He was my father & friend—
he was my everything.

David was a thoughtful artist, a creative intellectual.
He didn’t teach poetry,
he was poetry.

They knew me as his niece,
but we were closer than even a father & daughter—
we shared neither name nor blood,
but an unbreakable bond.

When Mother said she’d never marry him,
I asked him if he would marry me—
if only I got older as he got younger,
but such was an impossibility.