Sunday, November 25, 2007

all of my children wanted to fly


Garth in the slanted rain

says arms bend at the rainbow.

3 years growing: his own spectrum.

Take off my feet, he yells.

Bird need wings.

Take out the stars. Give me some.

In the wet grass

he marks constellations:

maple leaf, mushroom, twig.

Footprint, he says: Rain

walk here. Where rain home?

Questions easy as water

& already I can’t answer

We fast forward a few years here. This one was also a Christian Science Monitor poem (and bought the kid in question some new sneakers). Entering fully into the world of my children was always a great delight and a great challenge. This past Thanksgiving, which we spent at this son's house overlooking the mountains and the river valley, I reflected a lot on my blessing in having my three, each one a challenge and a delight in his or her own way.

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At December 29, 2007 9:11 AM , Anonymous marly said...

Isn't that true? Three, each in his or her own way. Startling how different they are, these bundles from somewhere.

So much of poetry is a history of having not just read but listened.


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