Childless, I watched from my window in summer
You, luring
butterflies off the milkweed
To pin forever under glass.
Childless, I watched in winter
You, the older brother, whose weight made the sledding path
slick
For the little ones following behind you.
Childless, I saw you through the reds of autumn
Riding bikes, no hands, but always a helmet.
Childless, a spring came
And Watership Down
disappeared from my bookshelf
A note in crooked, little-kid handwriting with a promise of
its return left behind.
And I knew a kindred spirit.
Childless, I measured the seasons through your milestones.
Then children came,
Followed in your sled tracks,
Hunted the Easter eggs you hid,
Learned to ride a bike, helmet on, as you cheered.
A mother now, I measured the seasons with new eyes.
You tucked your long legs under the little kid table,
ate birthday cakes,
and graduation cakes,
and just because cakes.
A friend now, I measured the seasons with hope.
You come together through my kitchen door,
Where I always leave the just-in-case light on
Car keys jangle where a helmet once sufficed,
Music books take the place of Watership Down.
The just-in-case light makes her ring shine.
My turn will come soon,
To tuck my legs under a table and
Eat wedding cake.
A season to measure with joy.
