i'm back at work today
after a solid two weeks
of rest and relaxation
in which i found this schedule
from my first job
age seventeen
(started there at sixteen)
where i'm scheduled for all but four days
of July of '95
and i've never stopped since.
really stopped.
even when i was
home with the babies
i watched other people's babies
and the two weeks
thirty years past due
just seems
so
short
Just like us, twenty-one years back, they were walking their two dogs. The sun was ready to set, and their dogs would plop down on their laps later, ready for a rest. They were grinning in the golden light of the first day of fall, so young and beautiful.
She wore a black t-shirt that accentuated her bulging belly, he a ball cap and a matching shirt. No worries on a Saturday night. Just get the dogs home, put the baby-in-the-belly to bed, watch a flick, go to sleep.
But they had to gawk at me. Crane their necks for the scene I was making.
“Just ONE PIC!!”
I was begging; pleading.
No, it didn’t matter that they’d rushed through the fancy meal I’d spent hours preparing. That their friend was late and didn’t even have a bite. That the remnants of the Minnesota Wild Rice stew were spilled across the kitchen. That their friends were already in the park taking sunset pics.
That this is the last Homecoming.
And goddamn it, I needed JUST ONE PIC.
My baby girl, her friend since sixth grade, her friend since ninth grade, her other friends waiting at the park.
Just. One.
Because this is my last Homecoming.
I looked over at the expecting couple, turning the corner but still craning their necks as I squatted down, iPhone on pulse mode, trying to capture the snark, the impatience, the beauty.
“Oh… you’ll be me before you can blink,” I shouted, and they laughed and laughed and laughed as they walked down the block, not knowing how hard those coming months, years, moments would be. How they’d be begging for one picture, one moment with their baby, their child, their… young adult.
How quickly these sunset moments flash before our eyes.
Before you can blink, they are gone.
only my youngest
would agree to overalls
shared with her Mama
our shared high school life
is about to come to terms
with empty nest blues
the cat is so cute
stretching herself on futon
in new spare bedroom
tries to fill heartache
for our four-bedroom dream house
emptying our nest
this Funchal art walk
makes me miss my young artists
at home without us
yet we must adjust
with the empty nest so close
i can feel its grip
this trip is a test
to see what “just us” feels like—
we’re on sold ground
he finally sees
his HMS Victory
in her dry dock bed
how victorious
twenty-five years we’ve waited
to take this long trip
always toting kids
or visiting our family
never alone time
the fish and chips speak
whispers of a turquoise sea
beckoning us: more
graduation tree
she chose Granny Smith Apple
sweet, sour, pie-love
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