Letting Go, Cont.

I think Linda Pastan says what I was trying to say Friday with a lot more skill. Tends to happen when you're a bad-ass...

To A Daughter Leaving Home 

When I taught you

at eight to ride 

a bicycle, loping along 

beside you 

as you wobbled away 

on two round wheels, 

my own mouth rounding 

in surprise when you pulled 

ahead down the curved 

path of the park, 

I kept waiting 

for the thud 

of your crash as I 

sprinted to catch up, 

while you grew 

smaller, more breakable 

with distance, 

pumping, pumping 

for your life, screaming 

with laughter, 

the hair flapping 

behind you like a 

handkerchief waving 

goodbye.