This fresh buckeye shines,
just cracked from its prickly shell.
giddy with discovery
bouyant with purpose
knowing only this, now,
air, wind, leaves,
tricycle, sidewalk, pedals.
I watch the back of your hand
move sideways across your lips, your fingers wipe
the itch from your eyes, your lids blink and your nose wrinkles.
My prayer is for bouyancy,
for light heart and easy spirit
“Mama, Mama, Mama.”
They call like newborn birds.
They scramble to get to my criss-crossed lap.
They throw silky arms about my neck, downy feathers in the breeze.
I stop what I am doing, what I’ve not yet begun,
with an eye to future’s empty nest, my raising work all done.
Often you say to me, “I can’t believe you’re my mom.”
I choose to take this as a compliment.
Often I say to you, ” Please stop acting like an almost 10-year-old.”
I insist you take this as a compliment.
When I think of life a decade ago,
I wince at all my oozing pridefulness.
When you think of life a decade from now,
I pray you shine at all your humble grace.