6/1/25
My granddaughter has taken
an interest in helping me write my poem.
We talk about metaphors, avoiding cliches, 
point of view, implied meaning and focus.
This goes on for hours. 
We get stuck on a line and she runs downstairs to ask
her grandmother to name a plant whose flower
lasts only one day.  She comes back with daylily

6/8/25
At my desk 
I find a piece of paper sticking out
of a pile of books.
A glance shows that it’s two poems
my grandaughter’s left me as a surprise,
the second written from the point of view
of her grandfather (me):
1) I wake up in the morning
    to hear a hoot in the rise
    of the sun and
    a scream in the distant
    woods then I think
    as a fox is to stealth
    an owl is to wisdom
2) My sleep is broken
    by a loud squawk
    high in the sky
    followed by the thwack
    of my grandson’s bow and arrow
    my mind comes back
    and I think to myself
    an eagle is to freedom 
    as an arrow is to bravery