“No adjectives allowed,” like a park where only certain kinds of pets can get in,
taking our children out to play and to be judged by the other parents,
where even the philosophy that every parent knows best
how to raise their child is wrong because
there’s always someone else who knows “the best way” to do it,
then they grow up after we dress them, and at school the teacher reads them over
in a measured voice, trying to find out that you failed,
and maybe the other parents are just as worried about your judgment,
or maybe they’re too proud of what they’ve made and are parading
designer bags, newer phones, tougher skins, thinner bones,
but every child has some deficiency and can’t seem to make everyone happy
so the directions are to be more presentable, to not stick out too much,
when you leave the conference and have to get back home in the dark
the teacher says no fantasies, nothing supernatural, they have seen
too many pass through their fingers class after class and know
that you are not to be judged by what you did
that you are not as unique as you thought you could be
and we all make mistakes when we try too hard,
but there’s nothing quite like your children coming home
carrying every single bruise and cut and deformity,
covered in snot and hands needing to be washed and hungry again
for you to realize how unable you are to do anything about it.
February 24
