A View of My Daughter’s ChildhoodShe pulled violently away from me with shouts I saw but did not hear and tore rudely through other pedestrians who lost packages, stumbled. A block away, her coat a-sail, still she shouldered on, offending. Behind rushing forms I lost sight of her, caught sight of her hair, swinging, a leg, now and then, until she slowed, lunging and panting further on and walked with the flow, apace with me. I did see her twice again—once pausing to grab a lamppost and swing around it gaily and once, very small in the distance, she cried, standing still under the Don’t Walk sign. I found I could not walk faster. She was very far away, back in time.
Jealousy in the Second GradeA blatantly yellow candy-box bow marketed her fat ringlets into whose dark tunnels I ducked my head to stare, as low as I dared, behind her on the cool wood of my desk, my fingers spread. But then we stood in the spelling bee line, the sun behind her, loops of the bow white hot, and where the ribbon layers overlapped, spears of orange shot. And where her hair reluctantly was drawn above her ears to the crown, some made their escape. Her temples were on fire. The flames would reach the yellow bow soon and she would scream. I hoped she would scream.
When the world out thereWhen the world out there has more to beckon you than I do, when its attractions are the stuff of your impatience and desire, when the thrill of expectation is most poignant and the chance of dream fruition calls you from some meeting place, my casual assent at your departing rush will be anything but.