Brought to you due to a prompt from "Sunday Scribblings"....
My
waving hand, fingers taut in
The
shape of “I love you”
The
sign language phrase
The
meaning deeply
In
my bent fingers and
Palm
as the van pulls
Away,
my daughter
Tucked
inside, against
The
opposite window
Her
face is trying so
Hard
to stay molded in
The
“I don’t care that
You
stuck around to see
Me
off, I am a seventh
Grader
trying to look
Comfortable
on the
Other
side of Girlhood
But
I know the wave
Is
caught, gratefully
Wasn’t
it just breakfast
When
I held her on my
Shoulder,
looking at the
Ground
Owls’ last moments
Of
play in the dawn and
I
promised, “I will always
Be
there for you, always.”
Together,
the two of us.
We
were alone, a team
No
one else heard.
What
she lacks in confidence
With
her peers, she has made up for in
Passion:
gallon buckets of conviction
Delight
that oozes from her skin
And
reminds me way too much…..
Because,
let’s put it this way:
Being
on fire causes scarring
That
wouldn’t be there if
One
stays only in chilly spots
But
without it, she wouldn’t be…
Born
and raised as a result of
Transformation
and movement
And
bending silver and bronzed
Pain
beyond what straw or ribbon
Or
paper or cotton could even think
They
know how it feels
She
knows. Even now.
My
waving hand, fingers taut in
The
shape of “I love you”
She’s
tucked inside, against
The
opposite window
=====
Such a hug and squeeze of a poem - I loved it. Your link has an extra html extension on the end and people who aren't computer savvy may not get here.
Posted by: Dee | March 28, 2010 at 05:04 PM
Again, a lovely growing up glimpse!
Posted by: Tumblewords | March 29, 2010 at 03:33 PM
There is a special grace for those who have had to suffer in life; They endure. They conquer. They love more deeply. It sounds like this daughter is special like that. What a great tribute you have given her.
Posted by: Lilibeth | March 29, 2010 at 04:52 PM
this touched me..very nice. shows real love for a daughter.
Posted by: Old Grizz | March 29, 2010 at 10:55 PM
How lovely is a mothers love. Recognizing that special age when your daughter wants to grow but stay. Lovely poem.
Posted by: Linda May | April 04, 2010 at 04:27 AM