The Measure

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.