did you see that poem?

so my girl just finished the first aptitude testing she's ever done. we'll see how she does, it's hard to capture the education i'm giving her in standardized tests. i read through the questions and thought of how my mind bends things around and how i've likely pretzeled her in the same ways. poor girl, just like me.

but then, we were leaving the library, our celebratory haunt. our place of rest and rejuvination. where we chase our dreams and honor our feminine virtues. i had written a poem about a tree stump, and read it to her as she unlocked her bike.

did you see that poem?

i knew she didn't because she has grown in strength and rode right up the hill she used to stall out at the bottom of, and now, she zooms halfway up before losing the will to forge ahead.

there, as i watched her from the bottom of the hill, her growth evident (how we miss these things when they are underfoot, and i am blind to them most of the time, so distracted am i, so distracted am i). but i see it there, as she waits for me, all decked out in turquoise, her long black hair trailing down her back. she turns and waves from her perch halfway up the hill.

i wave back and finally arrive.

i made it to the second row of leaves.

i know, you're getting strong,

i say. remembering how she used to complain up the hill, all the way up the hill, and the many ocassions i stopped the flow of complaint with demands for her to focus on the beauty of the scenery. the elements of nature right before her eyes.

it all depends on what you focus on, the burning in your legs from the steep hill, or the changing faces of the trees.

so my poem done, i ask her,

did you see that poem?

no. which one?

you tell me.

i knew she had listened. i knew she could find the tree if she looked for it. our minds work in similar ways, and i am training a poet unawares.

find the poem,

i said.

all the way to the spot she points out what could be the poem. (perhaps her poem, but not mine).

we stop right in front of the tree. and she smiles.

that's the tree.

i know.

she says.

aptitude tests be damned. if i can give this kid one ounce of what i've learned in the past year, she'll be set. but i have more to do. much, much more to do.