[I posted this yesterday and it looked right on the website, but when I read it on the Feedblitz email this morning, the text was all in a block instead of lined and spaced. So I'll try again.]
When Jenny Leaves
Tightly zipped, the luggage
sits in back.
Her dad slams the hatchback shut.
The world is gray and wet,
water dewed on windows,
a gray bank of clouds to the east
with faint light behind.
The sky is clear overhead, he says.
It will not rain today.
North on Interstate 5 and
she's tidy, zipped, and ready,
alert, alive.
Coffee at hand.
Off to her other life.
"Dad, what are your goals for 2025?"
Behind them, her mom sleeps on a bunched-up coat,
or tries.
Water streams on gray windows:
grief on a gray soul.
Is there no way to keep her here
boxed in a white farmhouse,
a caged parakeet
chirping, to bring me joy?
Tell me about your research, he says.
In the dark, her voice is light
and force and fire.
The only inputs you take in are integers, she says.
He nods. He sees
not the complex math but the daughter,
the calling, the joy, the gifts,
the beautiful chosen life.
Beneath the stunning wooden beams
of PDX
they hug goodbye and smile.
Go, my child.
This is the route for you, this gate right here.
Go far.
Under a wide dramatic sky
they drive home,
south on I-5,
thoughtful, sad, proud.
Bright sunlight all around.
Our youngest daughter, Jenny, is in her fourth year at Virginia Tech in pursuit of a Ph.D. in mathematics. She came home for a week over Christmas.
