In Every Brood a Defiant Cub

In every brood there lies the defiant cub. Knowing the whims of hunger and mischief, the tigress feeds this wild child first, before the gentler mouths. And knowing the ebb and draw of Nature, how the tame one would stick by your wing, and the wild son needs a toss in the hay and mud, you

let him fly, wrestle oxen and tigers, break a leg or rib, come back all
blood-washed. You wring him dry of ego with the whip of words, put him

on a leash of your voice and presence, praying that one day, he’ll pick up the chalk of life, and draw his own hopscotch squares, and stay.