Out walking with my daughter
on our weekly dad’s night
in the fading light of an early spring
we find ourselves along the river
when she wants me to see
the hidden spot where her friends meet
and though the meter’s running
and darkness is falling
and I have places to be
I follow down a brambly path
and hold my words
about the twisted roots that threaten an ankle
the mossy rocks masking risky stumbles
the scattered lighters that litter the ground
because I know this place
had my own just like it, when I was her age
a woodsy refuge to get away and hide
and forget homework, heartache, responsibility.
Well, I survived.
In the twilight we edge along the concrete
that ends under a white-capped flow
and together, take in this suburban peace
me and my lovely daughter
who is finding her way
and led me here so I would know.

This poem first appeared in US 1 Worksheets.
Used here with permission.