Saturday, April 13, 2019

April 13: Reflective, My Father Nature, "Watching My Daughter Dance at Kaufman Auditorium"

So, you can imagine, having attended the first of undoubtedly several end-of-high-school events for my daughter last night (a scholarship awards dinner), I'm feeling slightly . . . reflective.  I don't know how time has flown by so quickly.  It seems like only yesterday I was dropping her off at her first dance class.  That was over 13 years ago.

Things have been changing really quickly these last couple months, and, in 47 days, my daughter will be a high school graduate.  Forty-seven short days of childhood left.  I can't even comprehend that.  I've spent the better part of almost two decades protecting her, bandaging her cuts, drying her tears, planning her birthday parties, taking her to dance competitions, and now I somehow have to let her go into a world that's so full of division and outright hate at the moment.  It seems antithetical to everything in my father nature.

I know she's smart, strong, beautiful, and independent.  I've told her that so many times over the years.  That's her armor against a society that wants to tell her that she's dumb, weak, ugly, and useless without a man by her side.  She's going to soar.  I have no doubt about that.  Having her in my life has been one of my greatest joys and honors.

And now, Saint Marty's heart is breaking a little.

Watching My Daughter Dance at Kaufman Auditorium

by:  Martin Achatz

She’s a comet of leg and arm and sound,
burns gold in the atmosphere of this place,
whirls, spins, eats the oxygen near her,
a celestial body that appears on no
star chart, sails through the universe
on no set orbit, glances off moons,
blasts through asteroid belts and clouds
of gas, ever expanding in her own
big bang, flinging herself out and out
beyond the edges of Lepus and Lupus,
Cygnus and Scorpius, until she becomes
her own constellation of dervish light.

Me?  I believe the Earth is flat,
that if I listen hard enough, I will
hear oceans spilling off the horizon
into the bowl of space, that I am
still the center of her cosmology and my
gravity still calls to her, pulls her back into
the collapsing star of my heart.

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