Thursday, July 5, 2018

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.

No comments:

Post a Comment