Skip to main content

Without kick or crawl (for Emily)

I forgot
that
without kick or crawl
roll
or holding
onto the coffee table
or the couch
or those first tentative steps
we'd never save time
or get where we want
to go

walking is all
about pushing limits
feeling oats
close races
tight finishes
narrow escapes

we were born
to run
that race
even as we limp
towards perfection

we see
without care
for shutter speed
f-stop
aperture
aspect ratio
or available light

I remember the first time
you stood
standing under the kitchen table
I wondered
whether the table was holding you
up
some sort of overreaching puppeteer
but it was you
doing it yourself
and then I knew
as you took your first steps
you were off
and away
and I knew
that part
of my job was done
and the next milestone came
into view
how
to keep you safe
when you were more comfortable straying
than staying near.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Day's eye

About a week ago what is left of the natural landscape in Ottawa--and a number of lawns that have been let to run riot--gave over to the annual dandelion pride.  Dent de lion .  The teeth of a lion bite a place for themselves and parade their yellow banner for a week before exploding into puff balls of parachuting seeds. But even before the seeds have blown to their new homes, their place on urban hills is taken by ever so slightly more respectable daisies that open most precociously at dawn.  Daes eag .  Day's eye.  A suitable opening for a near Summer's day. Now these are honest bloomers--not sophisticated with heavy petals like potted mums. These showboaters of Summer overshadow their fleabane or aster cousins, who compete, blinking their eyelash petals when the sun is done, bundled in a royal mauve or a flirtatious pink. Also showing now are the heroes of the hedgerow, the bluebells or foxglove from which we have derived the heart medication digi...

Up along (for Charlotte)

The day is yet young there where you are and I have just been to a screening of You Are Here about the stranded passengers who were fed and found shelter in Gander Newfoundland when American air space was closed in the wake of 9/11 and jumbo jets descended on the town like waves of locusts or bombers returning from sortie and run in stacked formation one atop another as they landed and parked nose to tail as if on some aircraft carrier preparing the way for an assault by land from the start the locals had her skald (for those who know nothing of witches and cauldrons to have her skald means to know your fate and have it in your hands) and sprang to action as seafaring people do used to missing bodies lost livelihoods and death and disasters at sea housing passengers from hither and yon in schools and churches and meeting halls and billeting them in their homes for 24 hours they made sandwiches fried fish and chicken threw toget...
The city mover beat me to the chicory this evening maybe if I had passed by earlier I could have caught a glimpse of them but they will rise Phoenix like from the close cropped pile of grass and weed and present their brash and uneven beauty once again before the need for carpet and trimming loops of magic made by subterranean rug weavers is once again mandated and duly executed by the city crew in the burnt orange cabs of their ride along mowers browning the backs of their hands and letting the heat weather beat their faces to match the cabs and fulfill some unspoken contract between landscaping and maintenance and the gods of Chance Fortune as ever favouring the bold there will be other routs of the mover before the Summer is done and more rain hopefully if I can contain the fear of thunderheads building and more returns of visible biodiversity Nature never surrenders unconditionally but like a lover choosing her battl...