Most nights we read aloud,
sloped against each other on the
afghan covered couch.
Through Narnia and Earthsea
we cheered Good’s
endless battles with Evil.

One night, when it was time,
we placed Air’s homemade
super kiss bookmark at
chapter’s end.

She climbed up to her bed
built over drawers and low closet.
A guardian angel looked down
from the low ceiling,
and glow-in-the-dark stars absorbed light
for their upcoming performance.

I nestled my face in her neck, breathed her scent,
nibbled a kiss good night.
Now she would announce
her last observations on the day.

My teacher says we have to be careful
about grownups. Lots of times that
even means grownups in our family.

Our eyes met.
The dark grew close.
Yes, Ariel, that’s right. But you can
trust me to care for you all the days
of your life.

Twenty years later,
Ariel can’t remember this exchange.

And that is how one night
she and I saved
our world for
good.

This poem, about a significant event that happened with my daughter twenty years ago, speaks for itself, I think. I’d been meaning to write it for a long time. Finally, along came an event that prompted me to do so. I was asked to read at the local library as part of an event (organized by my friend, Neil Baker) honoring the work of William Stafford. Pick a favorite Stafford poem and one of my own, was the request. “Tucking in Ariel” is my selection. Here (of my many favorites) is my Stafford selection:

With Kit, Age 7, At The Beach

We would climb the highest dune,
from there to gaze and come down:
the ocean was performing;
we contributed our climb.

Waves leapfrogged and came
straight out of the storm.
What should our gaze mean?
Kit waited for me to decide.

Standing on such a hill,
what would you tell your child?
That was an absolute vista.
Those waves raced far, and cold.

“How far could you swim, Daddy,
in such a storm?”
“As far as was needed,” I said,
and as I talked, I swam.

Damn. William Stafford. Robert Bly once said this is one of the greatest poems about parenting ever written. And Michael Meade wrote of it, “The child needs to hear an emotional truth spoken…how far does my father’s heart reach out into the world?…Her question pulls him into the wave-torn sea. In that moment he knows the answer in his heart: As far as was needed. The blessing is partly in the father’s capacity to hear the real question, partly in the heart-willingness of the answer.”