Not quite yet
April 7, 2014
It’s so hard
to love a teenager.
They don’t smell good,
either they stink of cheap deodorant
Or sweat
Or the urgent desire to fit in.
They snap at any little thing-
“how are you?”
“Where are you going?”
Don’t ask unless you know
They will not answer.
Or if they do,
It will cost a large slurpee.or ten dollars or
Both.
His voice will not
Belong to the one you love.
It will be lower
Or delivered in a funny accent
Or it will reek with disdain, or impatience,
Or misinformation
Designed to distract you
From whatever it is they don’t want you
To know.
It is hard, and humbling, and
Impossible to love this
Big Footed, Deep Voiced, Mysterious, and Weird
Soul that lives with you..
It is Amazing when you see signs
They still love you.
They smile.
You swoon.
They laugh.
You swoon.
They listen.
You stop and try to remember what it was you said.
You stop everything,
You turn off the phone, you step outside, you close your eyes.
You try to remember what you said.
While they discover the rest of the world outside of you.
I think that’s how it goes.
I think that’s how it goes,
I’m not there yet.
Ah, this so brings back my own years with sullen teenagers. Just remember: in the US, where we allow for protracted childhoods, this is in his job description.
It’s lovely to see you writing poetry again. You’ve always touched me with your words.