July 5: Joseph Hutchison, "Lifting My Daughter," Those Hugs

Lifting My Daughter

by:  Joseph Hutchison

As I leave for work she holds out her arms, and I

bend to lift her . . . always heavier than I remember,

because in my mind she is still that seedling bough

I used to cradle in one elbow. Her hug is honest,

fierce, forgiving. I think of Oregon's coastal pines,

wind-bent even on quiet days; they've grown in ways

the Pacific breeze has blown them all their lives.

And how will my daughter grow? Last night, I dreamed

of a mid-ocean gale, a howl among writhing waterspouts;

I don't know what it meant, or if it's still distant,

or already here. I know only how I hug my daughter,

my arms grown taut with the thought of that wind.

_________________________

A poem for my daughter this evening.  She's growing up way too fast.

Saint Marty remembers those hugs.