I'll be left behind as I watch you move on,
your eyes fixed on futures and limitless dawns.
The point is to fly--to jump off from your perch,
To follow your dreams--
The game is the search.
But my heart bids me ask 'bout that perch--is it firm?
dependable? sheltering? "Yes," you confirm,
"but a lock 'n' load launch pad
still holding me fast;
the point is the future, Mom, it's not the past."
"Borne up on my pinions“--yes, I was your nest,
your susten'ance and world, held close to my breast.
Your 5am chirps and your afternoon giggles,
we'd laugh and we'd play, making finger-paint squiggles.
My memories as "mother"--I treasure them all.
It’s my privilege and pleasure, my pride and my call.
But you ache now to take off and fly with your power--
to face every challenge, and never to cower;
to soar and to glide and to nest way up high.
I know this is coming, yet can't help my sigh.
For I am this perch which you’ll text with “good-bye”
You must fly 'midst your flock–
pierce the tops of the clouds,
then swoop towards the earth
with its cities and crowds.
Your tweets will tell tales
of the places you'll go.
Of sunrise and summits,
of feathers and foes,
Of jet-streams you’ll follow
to see where they go.
These flights will be yours;
they’ll no longer be mine.
Yes, you will move forward
while I'm stuck in time.
Yours is the future.
Our past? It is mine.
Yes, wrestle the winds,
Góða ferð, elskan mín….
I am an American woman living in Iceland with my husband and our six children (now grown). I am a Lay Missionary of Charity and very active in the Catholic Church, especially in Missionary Families of Christ, MISSIO, and pro-life work. I have degrees in Anthropology and Linguistics, though I do not utilize them professionally. I write prose, poetry, seminars, and music.
What on EARTH is she thinking now?! 