Sorrow
My daughter stares into her dresser drawer,
a moment’s concentrated stillness
in the morning rush to school.
I see the line her face makes,
seen from the side
like a quarter moon.
There are deeper creases coming
from strings of concentrated moments
chained in the unexpected life awaiting.
I may not see it marked,
but I see it now
and move to kiss the cheek smooth
which now doesn’t need my smoothing.
She will one day pause and see the creases coming
on a face like hers stilled in a young moment
and move to kiss the cheek
or whatever she will do.
I say now
being in nature’s way
is consolation enough.
That’s what I say.