Catholic Dad

I’ve got a quiverful of children.

The Bible calls them arrows

and me lucky

and I am.

Though I’ve a pretty good view

of the target, and pull the bow

the same way every time,

bends in the air

send the one a-high

and the one a-low

and dams back in

their beaver,



I duck myself when they circle around.


I practice.

I do practice.

But my son and my daughter

fly where they will.

Over and under but especially

under the hill,

they fly where they will.


I saw God

Well, no, a man

at church.

He held his baby boy

close to his chest,

and his daughter followed.

Oh that baby, I know,

he’ll light up and

strike out,

and dad’ll be pissed,

and when the sword is slashing

there’s cutting all around.

But through it all

there’s this:

the embrace,

and the watching eye

of the girl.