FATHER’S SONG
Yesterday, against admonishment,
my daughter balanced on the couch back,
fell and cut her mouth.
Because I saw it happen I knew
she was not hurt, and yet
a child’s blood so red
it stops a father’s heart.
My daughter cried her tears;
I held some ice
against her lip.
That was the end of it.
Round and round: bow and kiss.
I try to teach her caution;
she tries to teach me risk.
-Gregory Orr
Gladsome Lights 
I just love that last line!
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Somewhere I have a photo of me snuggled up against my dad on the sofa, in my pjs. I’d fallen on a corner of the coffee table, took a small chunk out of the wood, and drove a couple of baby teeth into my gums. I’d forgotten about that, until I read the poem.
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The living room of my youth featured a large round coffee table and a brick hearth, and if a child were making a circuit, toddling or running around the configuration of furniture, the route took her at one point between the table and hearth, in daily danger of a fall onto a hard object. I think such encounters happened regularly as each of four children went through the rambunctious stage. But everyone survived without scars or brain injury!
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This made me smile.
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