I know you to the tips of your toes,
little sprite, you spry, wiry,
conniving little imp, born to me
by laboring in the raw of the morning.
Born to me again each time you
turn your hip against me, nose in the
air, with the airs of a teenager, be you
only seven.
Little one, hair flying in all
directions, I know not only your
body but your mind as I see you
calculating just what it would take.
I know you like water knows to
turn ice when it’s cold. Like
caterpillars spinning cocoons in the
first ray of summer. Me and you,
we sometimes peanut butter and
spun honey while other times
horseradish and pistachio ice cream.
You know me too. Can catch me
in any mistake I make. Can herd me
over against any fence I build. Can
catch me at my own game time and again.
Me and you will never end although
today it may seem like it. But we
will come through this like all other
days, this day when you wish to fly
away from me like a butterfly unfolding
wet wings from its cocoon. So soon
you yearn to let go from me. So tight
I hold you fast.
1 comment:
It's a tricky balance loving so much you want to hang on when the recipient of that love wants to pull free.
It is a dance that must play itself out--sometimes joyfully, sometimes painfully.
But the end result is two beautifully independent people bonded together forever!
MorMor
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