“Dear poem: a note about your parents” by Jennifer Beckett

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Parents remember
the times when you were haiku—
tiny, brilliant, yet

containable. And
they fear that you stretch aching
syllables, unknot

your iambs. As you
yearn, they will say just a-b-
b-a sonnet, now

Sub-text–That is big
enough, defined so we can
fix what breaks in you.

But
your
disquiet
kicks
prescription
into the dim alley, leaves it to thugs.
One bulb cracks
its knuckles overhead.
What you would give up on
turns into what will            never

come back.

Don’t judge too
fiercely. Your parents are trying
to teach you voice
as they refine their own.

It’s hard to know when to stop revising
and just revel in the page.

-Jennifer Beckett

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