I dip my hand into the wide
steel container of golden whey.
My hand searches for curds.

Begin like this; steady and slow.
We are freshly formed; cradle us
as chicks, newborn in your fingers.

I wave my hand in smooth circles,
up and down and up again. The curds,
a calf’s slick nose, graze my palm.

Tickled by hands, they giggle, but when
my hand pauses to hear the tractor’s
choking bellow from the barn, they roll

into soothing murmurs. Ignore
all other sounds. We see your frown;
ignore the calls of cows, the thin

reed’s cry of thirst, your father’s
rumbling groans and growls, the dog
who returned your love with a snarl.

Press your palms to our shining waters.
Kiss the skin of our whey-tingled toes.
Bathe the doubt from your dust-frosted face.

Everything, they say, will pass.
Remember how to start; steady and slow.

Out of whey I rise, glowing, ready.
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Welcome to Problem Child

Problem Child offers an alternative medium for publication of poetry, prose, artwork, essays, and other creative media by semi-annually publishing the Problem Child Literary Magazine. Problem Child aims to publish and promote individual original thought by creating and hosting a creative community.