Beautiful

What a beautiful family, others say,
piecing together a story they see
in photographs—us, smiling and in our good
clothes before a Christmas tree; celebrating

birthdays and graduations, travel and visits
from friends. How else could one respond
to what's offered as compliment, except
say Thank you? But half the time,

it seems a dishonesty—as if I could take
credit for something I cultivated and shaped
the way I might write and edit a manuscript: 
tightening the gaps, choosing the best

order; gently trying to ease my daughters' hurts
so they learn to walk this constantly harrowing 
life without giving all they are to suffering, to
sadness. And they are beautiful. Their visions 

dart like bright fish in the waters, even when 
a chemistry in their constitutions rakes and
churns the currents, whips up winds of anxiety
as if toying with the trust they want to continue 

to place in the world. I only desire a little
space for consolation; to know, before I
leave this world or it leaves us, 
beauty before any betrayal.