tonight at 7 p.m.

. . . he came and kissed me on the top of my head,
My 6”1’ . . . 195 lb. boy,
my little one.
Just came in and said “bye mom.”
He’ll see me tomorrow.

. . . see me tomorrow.
I always say “bye . . . be careful . . . I love you.”
He never says anything more than “um hum.”
He always runs out the door at the honk of a horn.
I never show him the box of tissue behind my back.
So I say to myself . . .

. . . it’s all about
that parental principle of roots and wings.
Roots . . . easy,
they’re sprouting out of his size twelve shoe,
down deep into every square inch of this house.

As to . . . the wings
well, that’s the part when the carpet
in the living room has a tell-tale sheen
from pacing the floor as the hands
of the old clock tick past twelve.
. . . now I simply go to bed with a prayer.

. . . its the part
when I hold my breath and my tongue,
so he won’t flinch at climbing Mt.Everest,
the path seen at the end of our driveway,
the summit still hidden in the clouds.

. . . the part
when all his freckles have faded,
when the bicycle leaning against
the garage wall has become a photograph,

. . . when he uproots his shoes.

. . . It’s the part when he kisses the top of my head
and I realize he just told me “I love you.”

. . . I realize
he just told me “thank you.”


jeanne rené 1/05