Arts + Scene » Poetry

A Child Becomes Herself



She won't hear what I have to say.
Set feet and folded arms,
Smoothly aware as a master
Ending her kata, she swears, "No."

Turning from my hand, she strides
Away up the hill, toward our
Shadowy forest grove. The dog,
Source of our conflict, follows

Her call, trotting with her, heeling,
Benign, now, as a puppy. I
Stay myself, my father's urge
Watching their progress, receding.

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