Every five years or so I eke out a poem. Usually it turns into an emotional deluge, where everything I forgot to cry about suddenly hits me and I’m left with a hundred soggy Kleenexes and a damp keyboard. Such is poetry. I was asked to write/recite something for The Parent’s Summit that our church hosted this past weekend, some words to accompany this uber sentimental (which I love BTW) video that’s linked below. So, if you’re coordinated enough, read the poem and watch the video at the same time for your own personal cryfest. Or, if you’re due for a supercharged cryfest, watch the video and have your spouse read the poem to you. Hankies ready?
You Are Mine
You are here. You arrived. And everything—everything—is different.
You are mine.
You, little wrinkled you, changed everything.
My definition of love
My sleep patterns
My sense of self.
You are mine so I hold you tight, but off you go now
to discover the world.
What’s this taste like?
What happens when I grab the cat’s tail?
Where does the sun go at night?
And why? Why? Why? Why?
You are mine and I hold you tight, even as you scramble to break my grasp.
These moments, these slippery, wonder-filled moments, tumble over each other like rain.
Can I hold on to this one? Or maybe this, or the next?
But Time doesn’t heed my plea.
When I reach out my hand I find yours no longer chubby, no longer waiting to hold mine.
Eyes wide open, I’ll keep my eyes wide open.
Clock tick ticking. I will be here in the now.
I will listen to this joke. Again.
And I’ll cheer you on, again and again for
You are mine.
But changing so fast. Too fast. Please grow up. Please don’t grow up.
My thoughts scramble to keep the pace
of who you are becoming.
How late is too late?
How short is too short?
How can I enter your world?
Do you sense I don’t have all the answers? Do you know the hours I’ve spent on my knees?
Do you realize the regrets and doubts I hold next to the hopes and the dreams?
What can I give you, tell you, warn you,
to make you ready for the beautiful, horrible world?
It doesn’t last, none of it lasts, but something unseen never fades.
Something—someone—holds all of these moments
these sweet sacred moments
You are mine you are mine
You are His.
Rachel Allord 2017