She is the one who doesn’t quite understand. I am the one who understands her confusion. One fragile fawn, meek and docile like a newborn baby, an only child like me. One who has entered a changing world, restlessly reshaping. One unprepared explorer in a hostile home. From the highway I can see her, surrounded by danger but unaware of the impending threat.
Her inexperience is weakness. She looks to her mother. She learns and she studies her mother--following her like a dog on a leash. This is how she keeps.
Let one get spooked, she’d panic, a part of her own naive misfortune. Caution, caution, caution, her mother keeps. Her mother preaches, she teaches.
When I am too lost and too spooked to keep keeping, when my will is low and my panic is sprouting like unraveling weeds breaking through a sidewalk’s crack, then it is I look to the fawn. When there is nothing left but my inexperience. One who chose to keep rather than be spooked. One who looks and does not forget to look. One who listens to her mother, for what she preaches, she teaches.