Between You and Me
Who says we have to
let them fly,
these children who were bound by cords
of flesh, then need, then, finally, sky?
(I never thought I'd say these words.)
What's wrong with nesting close to home
in branches of the family tree,
where seasons, like a metronome,
count days of continuity?
Why must we always savor crumbs—
the emails, birthday cards, and calls,
the hurried holiday that numbs—
while others celebrate their smiles?
Of course we championed bravery;
who ever thought they'd fly so free?
First published in The Lyric, ©
by permission of the author.