The Daughter

I made mine just the same as you made yours
and mine turned out the same as yours did

I began making mine before I knew better
when what I wanted was what you wanted

In the end I threw away so many of the
obsolete arts and crafts you taught me

I start again when I am many years older
many years behind me and perhaps lost

This time I make mine in the shape of myself
calling it some new kind of womanhood

someone balancing on new feet, I stand
and start again, it is late but not too late



A semi-legitimate concern upon
taking up the hobby of birding

is that I have waited too long
and as a result lack ample time

to learn who is who among birds
(there are many categories and

this alone is plenty to remember).
But, what does time have to do

with how we measure what it
might be worth to love something?