Glass Child

come with me

she says, but I decline

because I've been told

coddling keeps the child in the cradle

you're old enough to go alone

but the figure she cuts

when she's turned and walking away

head hung, looking at the ground

is as stinging to the conscience

as a February wind to the eyes

my daughter, now turned to go alone

slender and diminished like that

seems as fragile as spring brook-ice

a veneer that can be shattered

with the heavy boot of rejection

thus shamed, i walk with her
 - she taking my hand -
and I consider what has
become of the child we
said would rule kings

the dilemma thus:
in a single day she will spar with
the bullies of the playground
who bait her brother,
the special one we've taken in

but at home she will
become a lupine in
a winded field
bent and lowered
demurred and bowed

she is strength when wanting
upon her own summoning
a solid thing
whose feet on the ground are
as firm as the pillars of Athens

and yet, lately
she has softened to become a watery thing
under certain circumstances
a kind of weak organ
collapsible under pressure

she is a force among those in the world
yet a wilting flower in my palm
brave in the face of enmity
yet a shadow in the crook of my arm
an enigma

and therein I find my clue:
my girl, the king-ruler
has made 'round herself a casing of glass
fired by the heat of a child
not of her blood, but a brother no less

and in so doing
she can deflect the light (as glass will sometimes do)
or let it pass though (no lesser a trait)
whatever circumstance may necessitate
and therefore take her out either way

because she would rather be out than in
her engagement in life being
felt as a distraction to her parents
whose life is now focused on him
out of the reality borne of his condition

where he is weak
and requires our greater focus
she says this to herself:
if i am bad
i am no good

where he is bad
and requires our focused resolution
she says this to herself:
if they see me
they lose him

at 1700 degrees
fire will turn sand to glass
changing the form
the opaque becoming clear
the source becoming forgotten

the same heat that drew us to him
- and by virtue of its intensity
requiring of us to subdue it -
fired something in our girl
that formed panes

i walk with her gladly
unashamed at her weakness
guiltless of my unwillingness
to follow the prescribed
virtues of raising a strong child

because my glass child
is strong
but not unbreakable
weak
but not destructible

i have no fear now
she will be
the ruler
and servant
of the kings