Quills

 

 

Last week the dog came home

wearing half a porcupine

in her snoot.

 

It was all hell

pulling out the quills,

but you'd never know

by the calm of this

day,

 

As my daughter and I

sit beside the creek

and she tells me

about the spirits.

 

"The Wind Spirit,"

she says,

"talks to the Water Spirit,"

then points

to a breeze chasing itself

upstream.

 

"And when I talk,"

she goes on,

"I call the Wind Spirit

to me."

 

And sure enough,

a breeze pushes

back her hair. I don't dare

interrupt her

but wonder,

 

How long she will let me

love her this way.

Will she always?

 

Or will the day come

when, like the dog,

she only seeks me out

to remove the quills?

 

Comments

[Theresa]

Oh, Charlie...my friend said to me, "They turn on you (when they become teenagers.) I'd add they just want your money and your car! Enjoy her before she starts pulling away, a necessary part of growing up!

[Charlie]

Indeed. I seem to be the agent and the chauffeur at this point. But she still likes her lullabies (i.e., Bobby Darin, Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, Fats Waller, as best as I can muster) and the occasional cuddle.