. . . and he became a man

One last moment,
I just needed one.

My son,
your wedding so beautiful.
You pledged a lifetime of love
to this wonderful woman at your side
and I watched, tears in my eyes.

My son,
I looked on, so very proud of you.
Your compassion, caring,
your talent, accomplishments.
All things good.

My son,
I knew you must leave
cleave unto your love.
I knew that
and I looked on lovingly.

And when the ceremony was done
suddenly, in that crowded room,
just before the photos began
you came to me
overcome by emotion.

You were in my arms
sobbing
and I flashed back.
Holding infant-you to my chest
comforting, nurturing.

And then you pushed back
asked for a tissue,
turned and walked to your wife.
And just like that,
you became a man.

But you’d given me,
that one last moment.

Day 29 in National Poetry Writing Month. Today Toads asks us to write about something that signaled almost the end. This was an amazing moment in my life….one that I remember distinctly and that my son, to this day, has no recollection of. For me, I am still grateful I had this one last moment with him as my young son. And by the way, he is a very happily married man with his bride/wonderful woman by his side and three delightful children.

Baby Album

I still look at it.
On birthdays and occasional winter days,
when the snow swirls
and makes the windows glazed.
I wanted to keep moments of you
for you to meet, much later in life.
Lock of hair, corn silk fine.
Stick figures with circle knees
drawn by pudgy hands.
First this and first that.
A young mother’s notes.
Faded ink and colors smudged,
spine too thin for all within.
I wanted to keep moments of you
for you to meet, much later in life.

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Written for a June challenge from Holly Wren Spaulding’s class: write about something you saved for someone else.