A Poem for a Thursday #181

Next year my daughter will be a senior in high school. It is just unbelievable to me. We won’t even talk about how old my son is. Kids. They just insist on growing up. This poem struck a chord with me. My kids aren’t quite ready to leave home but I can see the day coming. Excuse me while I sink into a welter of memories of how adorable my children were.

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled 
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a 
handkerchief waving 
goodbye.

To a Daughter Leaving Home
LInda Pastan