Welcoming the Muse-in-Training

How did it happen? This hiding

of my gift to concentrate on his?

I’d trained myself by not pursuing math

because I saw (or thought I saw)

so much more talent in the boys,

for whom it seemed to come so naturally.

I let it go, the math, and even more,

the poetry, the writing—hid it underground.

But like anything with half a will to live, 

it will emerge again.

Am I to judge it? Would I judge 

my human child unworthy 

of the trouble and the heartache of her raising, 

of providing what she needs,

of letting her emerge into the world

to rise—or seem to fail, then rise at last?

                                       …But then, what if

she fails at last? What if this gift long hidden

has not grown but rotted underground? What if

the flighty muse has taken all her offerings

to someone else?

Well, come on back, I’ll try 

to welcome you this time 

(although you’re probably 

an understudy muse,

a muse on training wheels,

an adolescent muse,

a muse-in-kind).  

Whatever awkward gifts you bring, I’ll take,

I’ll make myself pronounce them beautiful. 

I’ll let them shine.

November 15, 2017