"Becoming Small"

July 1, 2019


I saved your hand-made terry
pink sleeper from 36 years ago, you 
the child I had no name for.
Your sleeper, washed, tucked
away, waiting the 
day you would go.  

I watched you from afar at eighteen,
blue jeans, arms laden with
college books, ponytail swinging;
you only turned once to wave.  Then
gone.  To your dorm, your new home. 

Last child.  Not really gone, as I
mother-on.  Checking behind you,
nudging you along.  Have you started 
a Roth IRA?  Are the children
registered for camp?  Do you have 
enough money?

Will you or I ever 
say a real goodbye?

 

 

Carolyn Cecil writes from Baltimore, Maryland. Her chapbook, "Taken Away," was published by the Broadkill Press. Her poems have been in The Broadkill Review, Backbone Mountain Review, Free Sate Review, Loyalhanna Review, Gunpowder Review among others. She is a member of the Ligonier Valley Writers and the Burlington Writers Workshop and has attended Johnson Studio Center in Vermont.

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