Friday, January 13, 2012

Madre--Amy


Hand in hand

She glances over at me
And her eyes smile
Tires swallow asphalt
As we sing our hearts out
Like old friends
And we are

I’m four years old
Crying at the door
When she has to leave
Donning her shirt
I lay in her bed
Closing my eyes
And breathing in
Her scent
While I wait for
Her return

I’m ten and
I can’t seem to
Stay awake
To finish my paper on
The Boston Tea Party
In the morning
The last few sentences
Are in place
But they aren’t my words

I’m a whole seventeen
And my heart was
Just broken for the first time
She strokes my ratted hair
The curly mess
Which we share
Without so much as
“I told you so”

I’m twenty and
Living in my own apartment
She comes to visit and
We both can see
How much I have grown
As we share stories
Late into the night
We are now equals
She respects my
Opinions and advice
As I do hers

The only friend
I’ve always had
She’s helped me transition
From Barbies
To books
To boyfriends
And now
To becoming an adult

No matter how many
Years pass
I will never be too old
Or too busy
To tell her secrets
And take her hand

She has never been too busy
To take mine.



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