While you are busy growing into your shoes
and trying to find pants long enough,
you might slip on a look of impatience,
an ancient heirloom from your mother's side.
It might not fit, but still.
You may try it on, all the same.
If that awful day comes,
and you recognize my dancing as stumbling,
and my stories lose their shine,
know you are my life's best part.
Someone has to fall to keep
the family tree from rotting.
I love you.
I don't regret a thing.
___________________________________
eve's note: this is dedicated to my nephew, who is still young enough to find my stumbling into his house on Sunday morning funny
YOU ARE READING
HEAVENLY CORRUPTION
PoetryThe ramblings of a woman who spent too much time in confession and too little time trying to figure out what exactly she was apologizing for.
