Seeing one another at the crosspoint,
just as the see-saw shifts
unexpectedly
and the one you once saw below
flies up and raises his hands and
you hold your breath,
your instinct to reach up and grab him
and yank him down into his seat 
and quickly shift the balance of power
back to what you have always thought
it should be. You don't really know
if he will make it with you or without you
and you think somehow you didn't do enough
or forgot to tell him the right way to tie his shoes
or cross his T's and dot his i's until, from
the new and unfamiliar perspective
you see him walking on eggshells as you
had learned to do, teeter-tottering on the edge,
skirting the life beyond the up and down
presumably safe space inside the circle
you drew for the two of you.

You are even more afraid because,
from your present vantage point up there,
you see all the other children who have run free
but far and you do not wish to be alone. You hear
the strange and unfamiliar voices singing
and the ringing in your ear that he might
disappear or listen to even the friendly voices
who coax him to get off the see-saw
and leave you here. He has been
the dutiful son, the lonely one who carried
all the weight of you holding everything down
and he, scared first up there in the air
but later seeing fixed circumference
and his deference and not knowing how he felt
or where to go or what to do apart from you.

Whether he jumps and runs or holds on tighter,
whether he clings desperately to all he's ever known
or whether he tries to blance things out and gently
step off, inviting you to do the same, there will
be change and a reordering of your worlds.
This is the delicate balance we must find.
We must dare to love anew, meeting one
another heart to heart, apart from the 
age-old story we have told about who we are
as mothers and daughters, fathers and sons.