First, she built a tower of blocks.
It fell down. She cried. She built
it again. It fell. You could have told
her then, Honey, it all falls down,
but no, you told her, Rebuild it.
She did. And it fell. Again.
It is hard to not want to rebuild things.
Towers. Marriages. Egos.
Careers. It is hard to stand
in the crumble of life
and not ache for repair.
Until it’s not hard anymore. Until
you feel the freedom
that comes from the mess.
She’ll go off to college,
get a mortgage, a job,
building it all like you told her.
Meanwhile, you’ll get out
your wrecking ball,
the sun hitting you
where that tower
used to stand.