And then she's gone

Nathan and Gillian came home from the Saint Paul Public Library yesterday with a bevy of books.

I love that.

Not the inevitable late fees...but the beauty of having someone with very good taste bring home a bunch of books that I didn't have to search for. Mmmmmmm.

While reading a book of poems, I came across this one and cried. I thought of my baby, my little Gilly. I thought of Olivia and Nora and Big Girl Yaya. I thought of Alex and Anna. And finally, I thought of me. And I called my Mom.

Gillian and me, 2000


In the spirit of sharing:

HER DOOR

Mary Leader

for my daughter Sara Marie

There was a time her door was never closed.
Her music box played "Fur Elise" in plinks.
Her crib new-bought--I drew her sleeping there.

The little drawing sits beside my chair.
These days, she ornaments her hands with rings.
She's seventeen. Her door is one I knock.

There was a time I daily brushed her hair
By window light--I bathed her, in the sink
In sunny water, in the kitchen, there.

I've bought her several thousand things to wear,
And now this boy buys her silver rings.
He goes inside her room and shuts the door.

Those days, to rock her was a form of prayer.
She'd gaze at me, and blink, and I would sing
Of bees and horses, in the pasture, there.

The drawing sits as still as nap-time air--
Her curled-up hand--that precious line, her cheek...
Next year her door will stand, again, ajar
But she herself will not be living there.



I am not ready for this.