Everything is lit by fluorescent light
Which seems quite bright,
And you can see the outdoors
On the windowed side
Where glass doors slide.
Playground (fenced)
Calls cheerfully enough
And teachers’ smiles
Are warm to doubting hearts.
They reassure the fears
Of those whose ears hear mother’s feet retreat.
So why worry, grandmother,
That it is not the same as you remember?
Shining morning hours with little ones
Whose every breath and want you knew,
Watched grow and bloom….
Ah, grandmother
Are you so old, so soon?
How challenging to be a grandmother whose grandson cried everyday for the first two weeks of kindergarten and looked longingly for my presence on the stair at the end of a long day at school. And how tender when we embraced before our shared ride home each afternoon, talking as if only this moment counted forever.
ReplyDelete