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had a conversation with a friend this morning about how reactive we can be, as parents, to parts of our children's behavior that remind us of our own psychological stumbling-blocks. he was like 'is this a thing,' and I was like 'I think so, anyway I wrote a poem about it years ago.'
Here's the poem: "Meleager's Log," first published in the lovely, now-defunct online journal Antiphon. Alt-text included in images.
![Meleager's Log
After your birth I sent advertisements/of your arrival, franked with bright red stamps/bearing gold daffodils. Year of the Tiger!/We roared into it, crossing through long labor;/doubled blind Tigers bound with cords together/and set free by a knife.
Sometimes I wish I were an Ox, sometimes/I wish you were. One of us should be steady!/One of us should cut less. We're rough on clothing;/take meat neatly enough, but afterward/quite often use it to beat the walls bloody./You are perverse
in ways I can't get round, because they're my ways./At each parental crossroad you're a thorn-tree/bearing exquisite fruit./I wear your stripes!/and lay mine down on you, day after day,/with sharp vocalized warnings and with swipes/pleading, _no more_,
child, lithe child of mercy, whom I must/have mercy for and from: when you're beyond me,/safe from maternal teeth, alive, God willing,/when you're beyond me I'll stop worrying/about the last bright stamps I keep locked up/in inventory,
preserved from use like Meleager's log./A piece of your beginning, with a warning/directed at myself: _you have some power_/[end image1]_to save or spill. Be wise._ Rank superstition,/but I don't care. Tigers need admonition.
--Catherine Rockwood](https://stockroom.wandering.shop/media_attachments/files/109/960/277/090/111/051/original/0f05c8e60f0d8191.jpeg "Meleager's Log
After your birth I sent advertisements/of your arrival, franked with bright red stamps/bearing gold daffodils. Year of the Tiger!/We roared into it, crossing through long labor;/doubled blind Tigers bound with cords together/and set free by a knife.
Sometimes I wish I were an Ox, sometimes/I wish you were. One of us should be steady!/One of us should cut less. We're rough on clothing;/take meat neatly enough, but afterward/quite often use it to beat the walls bloody./You are perverse
in ways I can't get round, because they're my ways./At each parental crossroad you're a thorn-tree/bearing exquisite fruit./I wear your stripes!/and lay mine down on you, day after day,/with sharp vocalized warnings and with swipes/pleading, _no more_,
child, lithe child of mercy, whom I must/have mercy for and from: when you're beyond me,/safe from maternal teeth, alive, God willing,/when you're beyond me I'll stop worrying/about the last bright stamps I keep locked up/in inventory,
preserved from use like Meleager's log./A piece of your beginning, with a warning/directed at myself: _you have some power_/[end image1]_to save or spill. Be wise._ Rank superstition,/but I don't care. Tigers need admonition.
--Catherine Rockwood")
This poem is in my first chapbook, which I don't toot about very much, but if you're interested -- ! https://www.ethelzine.com/shop/endeavors-to-obtain-perpetual-motion-by-catherine-rockwood
EthelEndeavors to Obtain Perpetual Motion by Catherine Rockwood — Ethel2022//75 copies limited edition Catherine Rockwood is a staff member of Reckoning Magazine and a reviewer for Strange Horizons . She has a Ph.D. in Renaissance Studies, and many remaining questions about everything.