Saturday, May 24, 2014

On the Edge

He rides, leaving left arm 
Dangling as other steers.
Not as grown as he thinks
As he leads down bike trail--
Releasing him a little.
Man-sized army green watch
Tells me he's on the edge--
Space between boy and man.
He can't be eleven.
On brink of puberty,
Toeing the line of man--
Proud to show armpit hairs.
Should I rejoice or cry?
My firstborn turning old,
Born red-faced, spiked black hair
Screamed loud into this world.
Now he's quiet, passionate--
Sharp-wit, humor, fierce will.
Amuses us with stories
He pens by his own hand.
Lewis, Tolkien, Rowling--
Spark his imagination,
Creating in his head.
Mixture of serious,
Solemn, adventurous,
Crazy, humorous, kind.
All bursting at the seam.
Our precious boy-wrapped man.
We love you sweet, sweet one.


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