She was only six when she learned to fly

Herman Sutter

November 2, 2025

“Daddy look at this,”

            she said and ran

                        straight at the tree

as if she would slam

            against it

                        and I screamed

stop

            but she was laughing

and so fast

I could barely think

            before

                        suddenly she is

off the ground

arms outstretched

                        as if to catch

the air itself

            or set it free

                        when the slap

of landing

            startles me

and for an instant

her embrace

            of the trunk

                        is all I see; then

arms and feet scurrying

upward into the green

                        thick leaves, bending

branches shivering at her touch,

            she glides unbearably

high

into the old magnolia

where the sun

gathers gently

glittering with laughter

and her father

            stands watching below

knees knocking

and always afraid

of falling

stares astonished

            at the wonder

                        of a daughter

and all the things

he’ll never know.

Herman Sutter (award-winning poet/playwright/essayist) is the author of two chapbooks: Stations (Wiseblood Books), and The World Before Grace (Wings Press), as well as “The Sorrowful Mystery of Racism,” St. Anthony Messenger. His work appears in: The Perch, The Ekphrastic Review, The Langdon Review, Touchstone, The Merton Journal, as well as: Texas Poetry Calendar (2021) & By the Light of a Neon Moon (Madville Press, 2019). His recent manuscript A Theology of Need was long listed for the Sexton prize.