To our daughter on her 23rd Birthday
and her imminent departure for Venezuela
So once again, my love, we have to let you go,
Our Spanish sunshine woman, our child of English snow.
The rosebud has to petal, the flower has to bloom,
The young heart has to open and love must let you go.
In realms of gold or breathless on a peak in Venezuela
May that flower of peace you chase within you grow.
These hands that used to be your anchor, wave you farewell now:
Love’s imprint travels with you, and everywhere you go.
O parent, what a burden a beloved child is on the heart:
What chords and strings are plucked, what music wherever she goes.
Dec 28 2009
Note: a bit late posting this but I've been closeted in a room with Oscar Wilde (writing a 100 page study guide on the Canterville Ghost) all day every day since. Our daughter is still in Venezuela, the next beach from Norfolk albeit over thousands of miles of Atlantic and Caribbean water. On the phone her voice sounds simultaneously far away and shockingly close.
