Monday, March 6, 2017


when she was 8 or 9, i wrote this for meg:

i want to tell my daughter
that this world does not seem made for sparklers.

but rather
for smooth bulbs in sockets
with carefully measured watts and volts
that turn on and off at appropriate times

here, the unpredictable spark
unreliable heat
flashing beauty
are risky - 
pinched carefully from the end
and set down with quiet relief
when sparks die

no - it is  not made for them
but it needs them

without sparklers there would be no
spinning or laughter
no arms swooped in languorous, wide circles
trailing ribbons of smoke
in curlicues
no naked feet in night damp'd dew
no clinging grass on nightgown hems

don't be afraid to let your spark fly
you will be a flashing 
beautiful risk
that someone can take

and they will need you 

last year she wrote this for herself about her struggle with eating disorders, and it was published today online by seedbed:

Hold Fast

Teach me to Hold Fast.
You too?
I thought I was the only one.
How did you do it?
Was it hard for you too?
Did you cry a lot too?
How were you there for her?
How did you not stop loving her?
How did you not stop loving me?
How do you know I’ll be OK?
How do you look at me the same?
I don’t even anymore.
My reflection is always foggy now.
But I guess you aren’t blinded by my doubts and pains and hurts and fears.
I guess that’s good.
But it’s harder for me.
You can’t understand.
I don’t either.
I guess I can’t blame you for that though.
You must think I’m crazy.
You must think I want this.
But I promise you I don’t,
I’m really scared.
I lay here crying.
No one can keep me from drowning.
Not those who are paid or those who just care or those who don’t even know.
What do I do?
What’s the plan?
What did she do?
Did she survive?
Will I survive?
What if I die trying?
Will you still love me then?
What if I can’t do this?
What if there is no light at the end of the tunnel?
What if I want to get better but I’m weak and I can’t?
He’s disappointed.
Does he not think I am too?
I guess not, but that’s ok.
It’s not his fault.
It’s no one’s fault, except maybe mine.
Is it my fault?
If it is can you lie?
Tell me who I can blame.
Is it the man in the sky?
Or the man down below, he laughs as I cry.
But that’s ok.
He doesn’t understand.

my daughter is a beautiful, strong, brave and tender woman. i am immensely proud of her.

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