if she's never allowed to stumble
into the muck's tempting tendrils,
desperate to drag her out screaming
and make her wish she could go home,
she'll never start to miss
the comforts of what she knows.
if she can't lose her bearings
in the overdrawn map she's scribed for herself,
becoming absorbed in ornamental details
that turn out not to be so,
she'll never accept the role of designer
when life hands her a pen.
if she doesn't betray the fickle cord
binding her to what she's been told,
drawing her back in to the rigid frame of still life,
she'll never invent ideas, create surprises,
fool the conformists who've trodden paths
worn thin with footprints
everyone's stepped in.
if you refuse to let her go,
she won't ever make her mark
on streets paved in cement
that's already drying
without her.
04.2010
4 comments:
Dana, this is just beautiful. There is much truth in this poem, and you've expressed it so well. Love those first two stanzas.
Richard
Richard, thank you, that's very kind. :) x
Dana, thank you for visiting my blog. I must tell you, as the mother of a girl who's in LA (and we are in Wisconsin), this spoke to me personally. You're right about the letting go, letting her make her own mistakes, the missteps that, by not repeating, allow her to grow. To fly. Lovely write! Peace, Amy
http://sharplittlepencil.com/2012/06/21/blue-babe-trifecta/
hi Amy! nice to see you again and you are very welcome. thank you so much for the visit and for connecting with this piece. it's a tough thing to discover when you realize that either you need to make your own mistakes or you need to let someone make theirs. i wish your daughter so much luck in LA, and hope she's learning as i am. x
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