
It always comes
That delightful dance of the groom and his mom
She has waited her life with this tradition –
to hold close her grown-up baby boy,
Now a man
Able to let go – he is a new creature
Entering new worlds
BUT
Here at her daughter’s wedding, I watch the wounded face
I feel her sorrow brewing, overflowing,
Like a barrel left out in a torrent of stinging rain –
it fills her heart, seeps into mine,
Rushes through every pore of her fragile skin
I can never know that pain
only its kindred
She’s a hurricane of emotion – Inside
Howling, storming, blowing, raging
And yet –
She looks at the pair in their mutual rite,
knowing she’ll never share it.
Peace Out
2 replies on “THE DANCE”
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