Poetry, Volume 2; Issue 1

It was a tree-lined street, an arbor over passing cars,

the house empty, undressed by the previous owner …

our footsteps echoed as we walked through the door.

“This would be a great house for you mom,

there’s room for the piano and for Hannah to play

we can put in a skylight so you get morning sun

and redo the floors …”

Years of Mom, protector, trailblazer, cheerleader stand aside

mom, hand holder, storyteller, fire tender …

how strange to hear the words of my son now taking charge,

our roles reversed, perhaps before I’m ready

but knowing there will come a time,

I’m touched by his love, his strength.

My youngest son, the joyful child with bright eyes,

patched blue-jeans, a runny nose … backyard birthdays,

Kermit the Frog and Ramblin’ Rod

perfecting living room forts, hoops at Montavilla,

ski runs at Mount Hood

negotiating time, space, and favor with his brother,

burying their father when they were not yet grown.

Medicine has made him strong

buried his tears and most of his fears

but today, now, I see him reach out

across that chasm from ER doc to son

and I cherish this moment even if it is not yet time …

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