Oh, but they are small!

My kids, racing past the kitchen cabinets—

will they grow, and pair,

give birth?  As I have.

Will they listen to one word I say?

How can they keep a covenant

when they don’t remember their promise

to throw fruit roll wrappers away?

Lego men, pens and a pillow fort on the floor testify:

they have more on their minds than You!

I try for them, to remember,

cajole and admonish.

I bark, a guard dog

protecting their future.

But my tone seems thin while my hands

work: prepare their clothes, clean her ear piercings,

put sunblock on his scar—her medicine, his

wheatless meals. What must I know

to fulfill my covenant with you?

I’m afraid I fail.

I do fear the Lord.