My sweet girl. I have watched you grow blossom, sometimes struggle. Who would wish adolescence on anyone they love? Like childbirth to life, these years a necessary albeit challenging passage into adulthood.
I remember Buddha you straight from the womb. Unafraid of toads you In your Alexandria backyard. Baking bagels you in my Clinton kitchen. Knitting you trying when I visited to master the craft. Teenage you behind your bedroom door.
I wish you passion for something to focus your mind. Mentors to speak to as you grow. Books to warm and comfort you. And the sure knowledge of how much you are loved.
Father would quiz me at the dinner table
on my academic failings.
“What’s the capital of Wisconsin?” he’d inquire as I mixed peas into my mashed potatoes.
“Where’s Patagonia?” he’d demand as I twirled spaghetti onto my fork.
“Spell squirrel.” he’d order as I lifted a forkful of pot roast to my lips.
My mind would freeze – my brain become empty as a clear frozen lake
and the scared rabbit of my heart would skitter across the ice seeking shelter.
Finally I ‘d pull from somewhere
“S-Q-U-I-R-R-E-L”
and the meal would resume its course.
To this day, I prefer to eat alone and
direct questions hit me like the Artic Express,
blasting away all thought.
People think I’m arrogant or not-too-bright.
They can’t see that small rabbit
skating frantically for the far shore.
A WELL TRAVELED HEART 