late summer leaving

There's a gentle battle going on at our house...

I Defend a Habitually Rash Action to My Teenager

Yes, daughter, I let the cat out again.

      It’s late summer and the world is

      steaming with sunshine,

      streaming with cloud and blossom

      and voluptuous voles.

He is not wise but filled with the beastly miracle of himself,

filled with the urge to be out,

to make his foolish way.

(You know how he comes back after

two minutes or two days, stands at the threshold,

leans in, steps back, leans in,

then turns and bolts away?)

Yes, daughter, I know there are dangers

out there—sly foxes, cars that run so

      silently we don’t hear them coming,

      other cats who are not kind.

But I have no right to keep him in, happy

as he is in his carpeted climber, curled

in any of his many cozy corners, thrilled

as he is by his kibble.

He knows his instincts.

Disaster may await.  Yes, daughter,

there might be sadness.

I slide the door open, and trust.

 

©Heidi Mordhorst 2016

I can only imagine what it will be like next year, when daughter is 18...

Our Poetry Friday round-up is with Julieann at To Read To Write To Be, where her small commitment to GO AHEAD with poetry in the first days of school has inspired me!

buckle up

simulated daughter on closed course

If the Motor Vehicle Administration had been open on January 1, my little April Fool would have been there at 8am sharp to get her learner's permit.  As it was, she had to wait until she was 15 years 9 months and 1 day old.  Driving practice has been going well since January 2nd--short jaunts on neighborhood roads two or three times a week with one or the other parent.

But Memorial Day Weekend is traditionally one for family outings.  Ours took us around the DC metro area beltway--famous for requiring nerves of steel when it's flowing smoothly and the patience of Job the other 495% of the time.

ROOKIE PASSENGER

While 16 drives
12 tells me he has
super-vision--
he can see the holes
in the hub caps spnning
at 60 MPH
and what does SPF stand for?
16 holds steady,
only a few wobbles within her lane.
Nearly 50 is coaching her
and I--51--I'm wobbling
a little too in the backseat,
letting go, holding nothing
but a slippery pink glitter gel pen
she doesn't use anymore.

HM 2015
all rights reserved

The Poetry Friday round-up today is at Reflections on the Teche with Margaret, who must be celebrating the end of another satisfying year of teaching.  Cruise on over and enjoy the poetry scenery!