I remember a class I had in graduate school
where the professor made us stand there
in a large circle, the beginning of each session
we’d fold our hands together and bow
bow to each other
bow to the place
bow to whatever else, I don’t know
I thought it was silly
but here he is now, four years old
not laughing at his own folded hands
bowing when he finishes reciting his first poem
I can’t remember what poem he said
something about jack-o-lanterns,
something popping out of a pumpkin
it doesn’t matter
all that matters is his striped red pajamas, his bare feet
his hair around his collar and that bowing
that no one told him to do
is this what it is to love?
For Will, at four
Beth Peterson was a wilderness guide before she began writing. He essays and poems have been published in Fourth Genre, River Teeth, and Passages North, among other, and her first book, Dispatches from the End of Ice, was published in November 2019 by Trinity University Press. She lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she teaches creative writing at Grand Valley State University.