THE DANCE

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