For most life on the planet, being hidden is the default condition.
—Michael Dickinson, biologist
The little girl is not like the hermit crab,
though both live by hiding, finding small
spaces where they can retreat and occasionally
poke out a well-armored claw for transit
or feeding. It’s natural to all living things,
this impulse to survive through concealment,
only this girl, who has tucked herself under the bed,
her soft body curled into itself,
this girl, though she pinches
at anything that draws close,
she desperately, urgently
wants to be found.
This is simple and marvelous, I live this delightful scene almost every time I see my granddaughter, part of the delight is that she always hides in a place where I can easily find her, her instinct is that the “finding” part is better than the “hiding” part
Thanks, Rick,
Yes, I think that there is so much richness in the act of hiding/finding really, I guess that this is the art of poem making, too 🙂 r
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Wednesday, April 22, 2015 at 6:07 AM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “In Fact, Her Life Depends on It”
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One more poem for the collection of mother/son/daughter poems that must be ripening on your shelves. It’s nice to see the transition to the softness of the girl, and the sense of play.
this girl, though she pinches
at anything that draws close,
she desperately, urgently
wants to be found.
aye, isn’t that the way they say it goes—pinching the hand that finds us? don’t we all spurn what aims to save us?
anon mentioned this being a mother/son/daughter poem. i think it’s a “selfie,” too. and, of course, it’s also, “all about me (ie eduardo).”