for my daughter, Kathryn
Elbows in her hands,
she is a radical without
anthological quotations
on the soccer field,
surrounded by all that
running, she looked
her coach in the eyes
& told him of her vision
to play a game with all
the players being friends,
loved, attacking the same
goal. He did nothing,
but smile because she,
of course, was right
& when she began
to chase the parent
with the whistle they all
began to chase that parent
& I have never been
so proud of a child throwing
anything out of the car
while we drove home
than I was of her
when she let loose that slight
metal & the shoe-lace
that once allowed it
to swing so boldly.