Baby Girl

Baby girl,

the black dog is at your heels

I can see it so clearly

The more you run,

the bigger it gets

I know you want to hide

but it will find you

The cur has followed our family down

Generations

Some have heard only its growl in the distance

Others have been devoured whole,

their bones spit on the ground

as a warning

You must face the dark, baby girl

Though your pulse thumps

Thumps thumps

like a rabbit heart

and your muscles are spring loaded
for flight

I try to take your hand

You swat me away, spitting

“Don’t touch me! You’re not helping!”

The rejection stings

Memories flood me like venom

All the times I couldn’t help you

Like when you emerged from the bay 

covered with jellyfish

Their stringy tentacles stinging and burning 
your beautiful skin

You screamed

Your father and I grabbed and flung

those hurtful creatures from you

but you never trusted the water again

and I felt I had betrayed you

Betrayed you

with my defective DNA 
that makes your eyes ache

and your temples throb with the relentless pounding

Pounding  pounding

Your own brain the enemy

You grow tired of fighting your own body

Why can’t it be easy?

It’s always so damn hard

And now I see you going down

for the third time

You push away 
anyone who gets close enough

to try to help you float

You’re angry

You’re scared

I wish I could just hold you

and make the demons go away, baby girl

The pain vanish

with a band aid and a kiss

I have no magic now
This is all I can offer:

I will face the dark with you

Stare down that mad black dog

that’s barking so loudly

you can barely hear yourself think

Baby girl, I can hear you

I’ve always heard 

even your quietest cry

like a siren in the night

And even though I can’t make your tears stop

I can give you my shoulder 
to cry on.

submitted for Poetry Pantry #129 at Poets United
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Obligation

source

What obligation has the tree to the fruit

the vine to the grape?

Having birthed the seed

what is the duty to ensure it ripens neither

too soon nor too late?

And what of the vicissitude of the weather?

Catastrophe has no feeling for filial dependence

no concern with parental bonds

Storms strike randomly

ripping progeny from stem and branch, leaving

torn, gaping spaces into which

Obligation's energy keeps uselessly flowing

spilled sap

submitted for dVerse Poetics, Duty Calls at dVerse Poets Pub