Prodigal Daughter
Rent from DeepDyve- Prodigal Daughter
You are always drumming your small fingers and refusing to blink. When you are mad this is a popular act: write my name on a piece of paper, cross it out, and hand it to me.
Once you said, “Santa Claus is not looking for you. God is not looking for you.” I agreed.
I can even believe you exist to tease me into writing about you.
You spend mornings looking out the window for the cloud-white cat that patrols our yard each night, and the killed baby rabbits always left in the same spot. The cat does his work, lays his report on our desk.
It is always a matter of life or death.
You are so serious about the predicament of nature. You keep a field journal at five. I ask if you write about the weather; you look disbelieving as if I don’t know a single thing. You say, “It’s for writing about animals and their problems and when it’s foggy what’s blocking you.” Your first entry still feels true: [End Page 160]
“The baby dolphin was lost in the woods of the sea.”
There is something to be said for knowing that a houseis not the world.
As I wave in my young old age as if for the last time watching you, I find my seat at the desk. Unseen I stare back as you recede. [End Page 161]
Chris Green is the author of The Sky Over Walgreens, Epiphany School, and Résumé. His poetry has appeared in such publications as Poetry, the New York Times, New Letters, and Nimrod. He’s edited four anthologies, including I Remember: Chicago Veterans of War. He teaches in the English Department at DePaul University. Visit www.chrisgreenpoetry.com.
