Relation

She sits there in the kitchen all alone staring deeply at the oven door. Eleventeen--half little girl, half grown, waging private adolescent war. Confusion, vast emotion all inside-- she's closed herself in desperate self-defense. Remembering mental places I would hide, I try to ease into her confidence. This age is like a tide at equinox, reaching, then withdrawing, still unsure. I once was at this age of paradox. I understand, and yet, I have no cure. The hardest thing, now that I'm finally grown, Is knowing we all must make it on our own. by Lisa (Teel) Rodriguez 1982