i'm ok, daughter

i'm ok, daughter

on my shoulders
rests the weight
while i wait
for your fire
to burn the world down

i sit in our
kitchen looking out
onto a march afternoon
enlightened by sun but weaker
without you here

you are at school
or you are at play
or you are at sleep
or you are at one of
those moments of deep

thought that i find you
in at times that makes me hurt
not knowing if you
are vexed by the sudden
breathing of dangerous clouds

i was never the same 11 years
old that you and your friends
are now, i'm afraid;
the way the world has bound
you to a deeper covenant
with darkness is perverse

when my brother died you
hugged me every day for
months and you said
you liked the way my shirts
smelled after i'd discarded them
on the floor

so you wore them, and
in your silent way
told me that someone
else's pain can be a line cast
across the waters of those
who've not yet learned to swim

so i thought i should
be more careful around
you, to build a bulwark
and take pains to shield
you from the weight
while you waited for

an older you to
come, that perhaps
then you would be better
for it when life appears
in the palms of your
hands like broken rainwater

how foolish of me

i'm ok, daughter

on your shoulders
rests the weight
while you wait
for your fire
to burn the world down

it is your weight
and i understand it
and i understand you
need it - not me -
to teach you the
necessity of will

and faith
and pain
and love
and goodness
and death

for i am
ok, daughter

because of you