A house just like his mother's, But made of words. Everything he could remember Inside it: Parrots and a bowl Of peaches, and the bright rug His grandmother wove. Shadows also—mysteries And secrets. Corridors Only ghosts patrol. And did I mention Strawberry jam and toast? Did I mention That everyone he loved
sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox
Yesterday, against admonishment, my daughter balanced on the couch back, fell and cut her mouth. Because I saw it happen I knew she was not hurt, and yet a child's blood so red it stops a father's heart. My daughter cried her tears; I held some ice against her lip. That was the end of it. Round and round: bow and kiss. I try to teach her caution; she tries to teach me risk.