(no subject)

What is Supposed to Happen
by Naomi Shihab Nye

When you were small,
we watched you sleeping,
waves of breath
filling your chest.
Sometimes we hid behind
the wall of baby, soft cradle
of baby needs.
I loved carrying you between
my own body and the world.

Now you are sharpening pencils,
entering the forest of
lunch boxes, little desks.
People I never saw before
call out your name
and you wave.

This loss I feel,
this shrinking,
as your field of roses
grows and grows….

Now I understand history.
Now I understand my mother’s
ancient eyes.
OUCH.... that is just ... full of - ooouch.

wonderful words that I can apply to my darling Gran... she had eyes like that.
So very true.

I can still remember feeling unbelievably cruel the day I took Son#1 to school for the first time. I felt as if I had put him on a treadmill he would never escape.