Road Trip to Portland, Oregon
My daughter, Arianna, our friend, Søren, and I.
I gave birth to thee!
50 percent of her genetics I gave,
though naught but the luminous, copious mane
skin tinted with olive and kissed by the sun,
she is more her father than her mum.
The ornately carved bazier that holds her spirit, deep within,
burns low and slow with the embers of wisdom
hot and ready to flee,
easily startled and quick to flame,
I have the intensity while she has the power to sustain.
She wants to have fun.
she knows when to let things fall.
This difference is so hard for me to embrace,
her lack of desire to always win the race.
as I see her competitive with only the middle of the field.
Let her find her own rhythm and flow.
with the forcing of self to walk away.
I strive to just be happy with her choices in this life.
She is not me,
I remind myself constantly.
I am not you, Mom,
Her soft gaze says to me silently.