This is graduation weekend at our school. Like any parent, I'm a bit misty. Part of our school's tradition is a senior breakfast whereat parents can rise and give a 1-2 minute speech (if you follow the guidelines) to honor their son or daughter. The following was my contribution to this event.
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Plump blueberries sift through moist fingers
as I search for stems.
All your life I’ve done this
a small discard pile on the side to
present you with a glistening bowl of fruit.
Now, being yours and your being mine means
picking through the stems.
I am content.
But I know it will not always be so. You
will go and I imagine be glad. I will
smile to send your ship to sea for it was
christened so long ago and has waited
in harbor.
The years you have been moored
have been lemony sweet,
sticky with the juices of baby
kisses.
The seed-pits we discarded well
you and I.
Amid playful antics you tested your rudder,
I sitting behind you dutiful,
sewing sails.
A tarnished clock speeds time as the
instinctual weavers hang
dew-laden cloth on the branch beyond our kitchen glass.
We have always homed together. There
was no question of place: hands touch just
after the shade of the day.
I know the sound of your breath in the night
velvet and when the owl screeches
in hunt, I have held you and peace returns.
You have been mine one season and many
are left to you. You will
pick through your own berries sweet
hot mornings.
I will sew new threads, carve
paths and breathe.
Each morning fresh blossoms --
I will remember and be content –
and you are to go forward --
