The Things I Must Do

I must

push you, force you, make you.

—

You won’t

move, speak, walk along the line

without me

attempting to guide you

in the light filtering through city trees

until you stop

and I give in

and then I go from behind.

—

Then I must

push you, force you, make you

take a breath, say a word

rise up, clean your body, face the world.

I never truly wanted

to be your way finder

or your keeper

far too much like a mother.

—

Yet I always must

push you, force you, make you.

—

(and you’ll never know

how afraid I am

to break you)