Sue Budin
Driving My Daughter to School on a February Morning
Fog veils the bare black trees. Their branches sweep the frozen pond. Once the air warms, everything comes clear. Could I do the same for you, breathe into all the dark hollows wanting to be filled? You pierce the air with rapid barbs, hurt me but mostly you. Can I pull them from your flesh like Androcles who soothed the lion? But you, a cold bare-armed girl, prefer to shiver in the chill of morning as the fog lifts and the sun jewels icy droplets on the branches. Live your life, sweet thing, as if the time it takes for melting was all there was.
Sue Budin's poetry reflects a journey from feminist awareness to a more universal compassion for all people and a recognition of the solace of nature and quiet to bring comfort. She has recently been published in Huron River Review and the Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry. She lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
