For My Daughter on a Bad Day Life will rough you up. Throw you to the shore like a wave crashing—sand in your hair, blood in your teeth. When grief sits with you, hand dipped with rage, let it linger. Hold its pulse in your hands. There is no remedy for a bad haircut or ruined love like time. Even when death is coming, even when the filth rises in the back of your throat— this is not the worst of it. And if it is? Listen for the catbird calling. No matter the wreckage, they still sing for you.
