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Standing around 

Waiting at the appointed time

In the place where so often

The shoe was on the other foot.

She churned restlessly, restrained, though

Her mother helped her pass the time

With games made out of strangers’ faces

Bobbing above the overflowing tide pouring

Out the door, pouring

Out their wonder, pouring

Out their love.


Today she’s detained in a log jam

Some fuss about forms or formalities

Until I comprehend the agitation she felt 

Building to a tension she released

Slipping under the cordon

Running headstong, headlong against the tide 

Into weary, happy arms.

A child declaring love’s impossibility

To be defined, confined by

Stanchions, blue ribbon and some

Dull regulator’s vision of

The boundaries of home.

 © Philip Knight 2018