FREEFORM FOR SEPTEMBER

In the tinsel of my twilight, 
I hear their laughter—echoes of yesterday, 
Little feet that once danced in my shadow, until I turned, 
Now stride boldly, their own paths to pave. 

“Mama,” they say, eyes bright with the sun, 
“We’re grown now, we’ve got this— 
Your wisdom, though cherished, 
Is a breeze we no longer chase.”  I wish it was that nice. I am a breeze!

I stand, a gust of nostalgia, 
Windswept memories swirling, 
Each word a dagger in my throat, 
Stabbing at finding the right thing to say. 

They’ve built their castles, 
High on dreams, drama and defiance, 
Yet in the quiet moments, 
I catch whispers of their childlike wonder, 
There is no more clinging to my stories, 
They are writing their own. 

And I’m blown away— 
By their strength, their courage, 
By the very air that fills their lungs, 
The independence that both frees and binds. 

Gardens are families, right?
I am made of mistakes, a compost to hold a fragile seed, 
Hoping there is a little bud who waits to bloom,   
All I have is more compost. I can’t say that even with love. 

So I watch, and I listen, 
As they soar into the unknown, 
Blown away, yes, 
Now I watch their shadows and I want them to turn when I laugh.