MICHAEL MARK | WALKING THE CAMINO DE SANTIAGO WITH MY DAUGHTER - A SACRIFICIAL

WALKING THE CAMINO DE SANTIAGO WITH MY DAUGHTER - A SACRIFICIAL

Each night in the refuge, after rubbing her feet with leaf-salve

until she sleeps, I walk the next day’s path, clearing

every pebble, twig, prying boulders the Romans set centuries ago,

and break each raised root – threatening as serpents. I bend

treetops in accordance with the sun’s trajectory so they will shade her

all afternoon – then just before she wakes, I return

with stolen grains and grapes from dog-guarded farms for her meal.

So she may walk her Camino. When it rains, I leap branch-to-branch, above,

to catch even the smallest drops – not one will touch her shoulder. (should)

When needed, I am her river. And should the church bells not ring

as she passes, I will beg her forgiveness - Sorry! Sorry! - crawling on my knees. I know this ruins her for this life. And the next

day I do it all again.

Michael Mark’s recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Copper Nickel, Poetry Northwest, Pleiades, Ploughshares, The Southern Review, The Sun, and The Poetry Foundation's American Life in Poetry and 32 Poems. He’s the author of two books of stories, Toba and At the Hands of a Thief (Atheneum). Learn more at michaeljmark.com.