Thirteen

Written on the side of the track field on a beautiful afternoon. Why do they have to grow up so fast?

Thirteen

(For my not-so-baby boy)

 

White, green, “Go Huskies!”

Pimples and the first signs of manhood

Catching wind

He sprints

 

Girls and a friendship bracelet

he swears means no more.

No less,

I sweat.

 

When did girls start wearing bras

and talking of things like

purses, Prada?

 

I swore that all began

in ninth,

at least?

(RIP neon green memory).

 

Black, white, spikes

Hot on the track

Scratching

at my fears.

 

“Hey, Ma!”

he startles me

“Got water?”

 

When did his voice

get so deep?

Who is this man

calling me?

 

I shrug,

(tossing him a bottle)

musing curls

that kissed his brow,

as did I,

so many times before.

(RIP inside my hope chest).

 

Love, dreams, “Go sweetie!”

I catch my tongue on first signs

of loosing he.

I sigh.

 

I swear, I‘ll survive.

No less,

I sweat:

“Go Huskies!”

　

　

Reviews

[Solitary Dreamer]

Awww this poem is so sweet.