After babies and demands, jarring

you from sleep, sucking your life,

your body theirs, the toddler commands I want

 I want at the grocery store stomping down aisles

knocking you into someone

you don’t want to be, red-faced and screaming.  The battle of will

ending with capitulation and desire

for something other than what you are left

holding in your arms.

 

She is standing on the precipice

of her body still demanding

what she wants, rules for behavior, limited

visits to the school, no longer wanting you

to please come, Mama, please come

to every field trip, picking apples with the 1st grade class, clamoring,

demanding more; 5th grade struggles with math–

formulas and numbers scribbled

in composition notebooks over the scarred

dining room table never add up

to what you want them to be.

 

You succumbed to her pleas, hating

every second, every game, every

recital you sat through, the years

of grading student papers in the back

of the assembly, on  the sidelines

at soccer games, half-watching

distracted, waiting for her name to be called, wanting

it to be over so you could reclaim

your life; the ceremony

in 8th grade where she stood

in her sequined purple dress; already too old,

but demanding and receiving.

 

Now you wait, idle, your life

like a plane speeding down a runway, wheels lifting in the air,

suspended between here

and where she will ultimately be, and you

left behind, staring out the window

face pressed against the glass.