Friday, August 28, 2015

Smallest at the Parade

She was
smallest
my allest
sweetest
neatest
eating a
chocolate bar
and seated
defeated
dejected
bottom on the curb
feet in the dust
and just
when I called
standing
handing
me
the wrapper.

Indulgent Moaning of a Wobegone Woman

There is a definite absence here, 
and it is odd when I try to think about it logically because when  you were last here you were often out with your friends and even took to sleeping in the basement rather than your room to watch late night TV. 

It shouldn’t seem so odd, but it does because your very existence and your entire life reside in another zip code, and they are forever removed from my immediate, grasp, control, but most poignantly, responsibility. 

I can only think of your baby’s face and your feet before they reached the edge of the couch. 
I can only see you singing with Barney about the Noble Duke of York and playing Robin Hood while you ran around wielding your red drumstick because I wouldn’t buy you any toy weapons.
 I miss your presence here because now you have become a man. 
And even though I love that man…I am proud of that man, and he will always be my son, 
he will never be my baby 
again.