by Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate, 2004-2006

I’d guess you’ve all seen a toddler hold something over the edge of a high-chair and then let it drop, just for the fun of it. Here’s a lovely picture of a small child learning the laws of physics. The poet, Joelle Biele, lives in Maryland.

To Katharine: At Fourteen Months

All morning, you’ve studied the laws

of spoons, the rules of books, the dynamics

of the occasional plate, observed the principles

governing objects in motion and objects

at rest. To see if it will fall, and if it does,

how far, if it will rage like a lost penny

or ring like a Chinese gong–because

it doesn’t have to–you lean from your chair

and hold your cup over the floor.

It curves in your hand, it weighs in your palm,

it arches like a wave, it is a dipper

full of stars, and you’re the wind timing

the pull of the moon, you’re the water

measuring the distance from which we fall.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2007 by Joelle Biele. Poem reprinted from “West Branch,” Fall/Winter, 2007, by permission of Joelle Biele. Introduction copyright (c) 2008 by The Poetry Foundation.