Those Were the Days

I wrote this poem after watching a little girl standing in line with her mother at a restaurant today. She was five or six and twirled and skipped in her lightweight school uniform. Every few minutes her head would tilt up looking heavenward at her mother and her still pudgy face would beam with enamoured worship. I found tears coming to my eyes as I realized that Abbey has now moved past that wonderful age of spontaneous delight and unquestioning faith.

Paradise Lost

The bubbling, boisterous

Energy has quieted

And sits hiding helplessly

Behind the perfect pout

Or the rolled eyes of

Disdain for the inhabitant no longer

On that parent pedestal

Where three-year-olds gaze in

Awe of

Knowledge

Strength

Ability

Love and

Answers

to WHY?

Now Mommy is mute to

Ears filled with friends'

Noisy whispers of doubt,

Comparisons and complicated

Social standing.

My once bouncing, dancing, hand-holding

Daughter no longer

Holds my opinion so close,

So trusted, and her

Eyes flash in independence when

I suggest that she let her face know she's happy and

Smile.