January 17th, 2016 Prayer to my Daughters

by Brendan Strong

I fear you getting older.
Not for your adolescence
Nor for boys,
Nor the heartache and heartbreak
The music I’ll call noise.

Your rooms can be a mess, I couldn’t care less,
Already there’s clothes and dolls strewn everywhere.
Although I reserve the right to tell you to hoover.

And you’ll travel, I’m sure.  Possibly lose your money
And your passport – and as terrible as it is to
It scares me no more than the vagaries of this life we all endure.

I don’t fear the rebellion, you know – I can hold my own
With yelling, even though your mother doesn’t approve.
Already I see your toes, tapping the feet of mountains you’ll move.

I’ll be livid with great escapes into the midnight of the estate
Probably giggling and laughing, you will give yourselves away
We’ll have words, that’s for sure, about things you’ll do that will make you fools.

I’ll be older too, maybe even 64, probably embarrass you more than now,
Pretending to be a rolling stone, maybe gathering moss, these puns like rain:
It may be twenty years after before you’ll see the point of a Dad again.

That doesn’t scare me.

I fear your independence, when you’ll no longer need
To be such precious joy for me.

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