all of my children wanted to fly
GARTH IN THE SLANTED RAIN
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.
Labels: childhood questions, poetry
1 Comments:
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.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home