The lit up stage is way down front
the last row’s cramped, no leg spacemaybe an afterthought just meant
for children, or those who came in too late
to find a spot in the coveted aisles
and I should fit, but I don’t;the names are called of each child
and each one carries something to flaunt -
deepens a father’s applause, a mother’s smile
some things my son you’ll learn from books
others you won’t find on your pageyou’ll have to go elsewhere to look
the speeches are made on the stage
the awards given, small and huge
markers of childhood, and coming of age
a sibling sits filming an event
with shaky hands and a steady pridea polished routine draws to an end
then you are called to collect your prize
you walk down, gawky angled, unkempt
hair spiked, beautiful innocence
looking back once to catch my eyes.
Lovely look at graduation day. Memories of so many of them with my two boys, found in your words. From kindergarten to college, the pride is the same no matter the age.
ReplyDeleteWonderful!
I am finding that out for myself as we go along :) Thanks!
Deleteits blissful to watch your truest students .. your blood ..achieve and be recognized .. the proudest teacher.. is a parent :) no matter he teaches on his/her own or hires a teacher by profession to fulfill the need.
ReplyDeleteWonderfully expressed dear poetess!! :)
Blissful is the right word. :) Thank you!
DeleteSuch profound description! :)
ReplyDeleteGlad you enjoyed it thanks! :)
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