At six, my daughter doesn’t know
her visit to the oral surgeon tomorrow
is a hardship. She is thrilled about losing
three teeth in a day, just think
what the tooth fairy might bring!
She twirls around the room and hums
a tune that only she knows. I do not tell her
how much it might hurt. I tell myself
it may not be so bad, that children
heal faster. Just last week, she was bit
by the cat and already the wound
has disappeared. I tell myself it is better
this way, the not knowing.
I try to imagine not knowing
how much it hurts when the ones
we love are in pain. I want to save her
in ways I can’t save myself—save her
from the sting of worry. Tomorrow
is nowhere here. For now, there is
this song spiraling out, there is
this spinning, laughing girl, there is
this heart breaking before its time,
this longing to hold something
that can never be held.
Oh! The alchemy of your closing sentence. The transition of, “there is this heart breaking before its time.” Whose heart are you writing about? Just maybe, it’s your daughter’s heart breaking open to the joy of expectation. Maybe also this is about your own heart. And yes, I am saying your intention might be to be talking about both your hearts, here, and at the very same time.
And what about those longings to hold what cannot be?
Calming, healing thoughts and prayers for you and yours, Amiga!
In good poems, I think there is a “hinge” — like on a door — on which the meaning hangs. So often it fits into the center of the poem, so that the poem has time to swing up to it, and then to swing back. Here is your hinge.
“I tell myself it is better…
this way, the not knowing.”
Lovely poem. And so about all of us.