Poems & Essays

15 Aug

Grown Children

General/Column No Response

Like an eyelash
curled between my fingertips,
those pastel stroller days
slipped away.

Pinked sky rippled
into autumn toddles,
and your steps, like swirling leaves,
grew quick and wary.
My hands always close enough
to catch your breeze.

Worry days drifted and piled,
carried by the ice storm
of your teen fury.
We sank
under its sopping weight.

And after
by years that felt like days
refined by the burn of a climbing sun,
your lean grew lighter.
Together,
we were almost
steady in the balance.

Until today,
you said something
and the scales tipped,
I slid in your direction,
and I wonder how
it felt to you,

like loose bricks, maybe,
under your feet.

 

Julianne Palumbo, MAW’s founder and Editor-in-Chief, is a mother, a writer and a writing encourager. She is blessed to have raised three children who still keep her moving. When she’s not writing, you will find her in the kitchen or the garden or walking the dog.

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