To a Daughter

Now that you are seventeen,

An important age,

You sweep by me

In your hurry to get places.

Sometimes I would like to follow.

But your world is yours alone.

I think of you as a second hand

On a clock—and I,

I am the minute hand,

Not too far behind,

Glad for the moments

When we make brief contact,

Yet knowing your revolutions

Will always outdistance me.

In your haste, please remember

I am here … not too far behind you.

When you want us to make contact,

Tell me so

And I will run,

Breaking all the laws of nature.

Like a minute hand gone wild

I will run

To catch up with you.