Timid tears rolled down
Freckled and crimson cheeks,
His tiny fingers clutching mine,
On his first day.
Charcoal bicycle tires
Wavered over chalked pavement.
A toothless grin under
A helmet too big.
It’s been too long
Since those hands latched mine.
He towers over me now,
A baby face peeking out from stubble.
Still, we relive the days
Of stealing our parent’s white
Sheets to construct a secret place,
Just for us to make shadow puppets
And read stories past our bedtime.
We reminisce the time
He mastered the diving board
At the pool down the street.
We became prunes,
Wading until sundown,
When the earsplitting whistles
Blew, indicating it was time to
Make the journey home.
When I recall these memories,
Ones that have long passed,
My stomach doesn’t clench
With sadness.
For I anticipate the day
That my children and his
Will scamper around the yard,
Grass-stains that mirror
My childhood, and once again,
We’ll be those two kids, cavorting
Down the street,
Young and jovial.
flawedvegan 