I can't find any record that I posted this for Poetry Friday before now. But I know this is a recent find, so I wonder if I found it from someone else's Poetry Friday post.
Anyhow, I like this one for several reasons -- it's a solid poem with good use of language and imagery; it's got a good story to tell that would appeal to younger poets; and it's got audio so you can listen to the poet read it and hear his commentary about it beforehand. I do truly think hearing the audio makes the poem so much more of a poem, so as always, I encourage you to click and listen.
In her room at the prow of the house
Where the light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.
I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.
Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.
But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which
The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.