Thursday, September 11, 2008

Flying (Poem)

Flying*

But Daddy, she says,
kite over her head,

its tail masking her eyes.
We’ll tell the wind

to come back
. She
lifts the kite to look at me

then makes for the door
before I can reply,

her sister close behind,
looking back

for my permissive nod.
They’re so different,

these two, yet their voices
layer so finely—the older’s

relentless, compressed;
the younger’s expectant,

fragile—as they
will the wind to cover

their August afternoon
that I draw in breath,

hoping the vacuum will
pull currents enough

to keep their string
trained, their voices taut

against the silent
movements of God.


*Tentatively titled--any suggestions?

6 comments:

  1. I love line about telling the wind. Maybe that would be a good title? "Tell the Wind"?

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  2. One is five, the other two point five. We also have a seven-month old.

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  3. That must be fun. I've also got all girls (4, 3, 1.5, 6 weeks). I think you've captured something precious about a father's reaction to his little girls' spirit that is difficult to put a name to. If I had to, I'd say it has to do with the faith-centered hope you express for the simple things of their lives to turn out well - evidenced by seeing God in the act of flying a kite on a windless day.

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  4. And you with four girls, all so close together--that must be fun. You must be brave...or a glutton for punishment. Or both. ;) And this coming from the stay at home father of three little girls...I wouldn't change it for the world though. (I don't know what I'd do with a little boy...probably make him crazy.) I love seeing their personalities develop and learning from them and worrying about them and their futures (as illustrated in this poem--my "reaction," as you say, to their nascent world). They've definitely changed my life.

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  5. You're so blessed to be able to stay at home with them. Someday I'll get myself worked out to the point where I can do that too, but for now I see them less than I would like and spend time with them far less.

    Your comment about a little boy made me laugh. I think I know exactly what I would do with one. My two youngest were both supposed to be boys - in the true sense where that's what everyone supposed. Ultrasounds are not always reliable, to put it mildly.

    There was a great piece in the Church art competition last time: I don't recall the title, but it was a sculpture of a father being chiseled out of a rock by his children. They were climbing all over him and chipping away at different parts. He had only halfway emerged. That's part of how I feel about my girls.

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