On Teddy’s Last Morning of High School (a poem)

I make waffles,
served with that West Virginia-tapped maple syrup
you love, and

a flock of geese
threads its way through the sky overhead and memories
flattened by time, as if
preserved between the pages
of a thick book, suddenly
pulse with scent, translucent
in a sheaf of golden light.

I hold them with light fingers, afraid of the crumble; afraid of my
unwieldy touch. do I speak?
it will not be contained in
any word-box. I want a
picture. you kindly say “no,”
your hair uncombed, sleep
still in your eyes.

but you stand still as a tree as I kiss you goodbye,
tasting of salted maple syrup
and dreams.


  1. says

    Oh goodness. Someday he’ll come back and hug and kiss you on the cheek all on his own….and thank you a hundred times. He’ll probably let you take his picture.
    (My son’s 15th wedding anniversary is today. Now HOW did that happen?)
    Yep, it’s like that.

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