Bedtime

This one is a few months old, but I'm always reluctant to share my poor attempts at poetry. Thankfully, Clayton has gotten over his fear of going to kindergarten, and spring finally seems to have arrived!

My son calls from his bed, distraught--

“I don’t want to go to kindergarten!”

Oh for heaven’s sakes!

It is eight months off, and after eight already

I am desperate to be alone, and done,

to read and eat a bowl of cereal,

to not be mom.

But my impatience makes no dent

I cannot ridicule this fear out of him,

nor make him laugh it gone

He cannot understand that change

is hardest from the side he’s on

so I sit on the edge of his bed and talk

of other things

the banana cake we’ll make his father

for his birthday

and valentines

and how, in spring,

we’ll go camping on the beach

and wake, amazed, to see the ocean

just beyond our tents.

“And the sand?” he asks, eyes bright

And the sand, I say,

and we grin at each other,

waiting for that morning that will come

and the bright blue sparkle

of spring.