My Daughter's Morning

Courtesy of Garrison Keillor's radio broadcast, The Writer's Almanac, here's a poem by David Swanger that spoke to me on my way to work this morning. As the father of two daughters, it's nice to be reminded what we mean to our little girls. I'm many years removed from the diapering days outwardly portrayed here, yet I still witness almost daily the anticipation of escapades in the eyes of our nine year old. The eyes of a 13 year old more often reflect the amazing idiocy of her paternal parent than "the first version of later princes", but the smile and love and admiration are still not too deeply hidden...at least not yet.

For all of you with kids, enjoy....

My Daughter's Morning
by David Swanger

My daughter's morning streams
over me like a gang of butterflies
as I, sour-mouthed and not ready
for the accidents I expect

of my day, greet her early:
her sparkle is as the edge of new
ice on leafed pools, while I
am soggy, tepid; old toast.

Yet I am the first version
of later princes; for all my blear
and bluish jowl I am welcomed
as though the plastic bottle

I hold were a torch and
my robe not balding terry.
For her I bring the day; warm
milk, new diaper, escapades;

she lowers all bridges and
sings to me most beautifully
in her own language while
I fumble with safety pins.

I am not made young
by my daughter's mornings;
I age relentlessly.

Yet I am made to marvel
at the durability of newness
and the beauty of my new one.