Three years ago to the hour, the day she was born,
\nthat unmistakable brim and tug of the tide
\nI\u2019d thought was over. I drove
\nthe twenty miles of summer lanes,
\nmy daughter cursing Sunday cars,
\nand the lazy swish of a dairy herd
\nrocking so slowly home.<\/p>\n
Something in the event,
\nlate summer heat overspilling into harvest,
\napples reddening on heavy trees,
\nthe lanes sweet with brambles
\nand our fingers purple,
\nthen the child coming easy,
\ntoo soon, in the wrong place,<\/p>\n
things seasonal and out of season
\ntowed home a harvest moon.
\nMy daughter\u2019s daughter
\na day old under an umbrella on the beach,
\nLatecomer at summer\u2019s festival,
\nand I\u2019m hooked again, life sentenced.
\nEven the sea could not draw me from her.<\/p>\n
This year I bake her a cake like our house,
\nand old trees blossom
\nwith balloons and streamers.
\nWe celebrate her with a cup
\nof cold blue ocean,
\ncandles at twilight, and three drops of,
\nprobably, last blood.<\/p>\n
Notes…<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Three years ago to the hour, the day she was born, that unmistakable brim and tug of the tide I\u2019d thought was over. I drove the twenty miles of summer lanes, my daughter cursing Sunday cars, and the lazy swish of a dairy herd rocking so slowly home. Something in the event, late summer heat… Continue reading Mali<\/span>