Poetry Month: Poem of the Day

That you will suffer,

that you will learn of worlds,

that you will leave here

and contemplate failure,

the tears that well up

of their own accord. That you will grow

and love and fall, that each day

will demand its quota of pain—

and must it be said?

That one day, the tally of wonders

commonplace, your body marked

by routine violence, you will return

here and seek shelter

from the marksman.

That I could offer

protection, that I could draw you

close and, as now, hum

you a lullaby—one from your childhood,

the words forgotten. That this old

strategy will be enough for you,

once more, to leave.


On Realizing His Toddler Will Become a Woman
By Shane Neilson