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Enduring Love
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when he was twelve.
Then he passed her right up
like a bamboo shoot
on a damp summer day.
She didn't care.
She stuck her finger high
in the air, right in his face,
The other hand at the waist.
They could be anywhere
and she'd give him
That stare,
that he read as a warning equivalent to the sign
in front of a nuclear power plant.
Only she
could do that to him .
And that's as true an experience of mothers and children as you'll find anywhere, brown or white, in verse or in prose.
Jennifer Howard, a former contributing editor of Book World, is a staff writer at the Chronicle of Higher Education and a contributor to the forthcoming "DC Noir."
![[slate.com logo]](http://media.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/graphic/2007/09/27/GR2007092701096.GIF)
