Once I was their world.
I cradled them in my arms;
they nursed at my breast.
Kissing their downy heads,
I was the good fairy,
raining blessings upon them,
weaving a spell
of my hopes and dreams
for their lives,
my index finger clenched
in their small, tight fist.
I thought they would never let go.
Molly Hogan (c) 2016
To enjoy more poetry, go to Random Noodling for this week’s Poetry Friday Roundup.
Nix the comfort zone 
Love it! All parents can relate. Love the picture of “my index finger clenched in their small, tight fist.” And then the last line wraps up your poem so nicely.
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Thanks, Dan!
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They may let go, but there’s always a bit of invisible spider silk holding you together.
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I like the idea of that spider silk 🙂
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Lovely. That letting go season can be challenging, but Diane is right. There is that wonderful bit of spider silk!
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This gives me such a feeling of dread. I have them all still here, all three of my little snarky angels. I don’t look forward to an empty nest.
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Brenda– I certainly didn’t mean to inspire dread! I love watching my children explore their own lives as adults–it’s just that now and again I get nostalgic. It’s hard to reconcile nursing babies with adventurous 20-somethings!
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I can only imagine. 🙂 I just hope mine settle near me.
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And they do, but you wouldn’t want it any other way really. Beautifully written, Molly. You might enjoy Ruth’s poem “Summer Mowing”.
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I commented on that poem earlier today, Linda. It’s wonderful, isn’t it!?
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Molly,
Appreciations for making me think how the reward for good raising
is safe flight.
Our experience from the far side of infant/child days is what Diane
suggest, the silk cord connects.
Ours, early 20s,
lets us know
she loves us so.
I can tell this will be your experience, too.
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“…the reward for good raising is safe flight…” Lovely! Thanks for reading and commenting!
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This poem captures such a wonderful and sweet time. I’ve been enjoying such moments vicariously through an electronic photo frame, onto which I’ve loaded a camera card full of photos of my grandbabies at various stages. This poem and the images I’m enjoying make my heart go to mush.
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I may just have to invest in one of those electronic frames–though I hope the grandbabies are a few years away still! 🙂
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This melts my heart, Molly! I walked this walk and can connect. That’s what makes this poem capture me. Beautiful!
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Oh, this one really hits home. My brother and I, both entering middle age are clearing out our 89 year-old mom’s house to prepare it for sale. We eat noon dinner with her at the assisted living facility, and at her table is a feisty 105 year-old, who was married when my mom was 5, in 1932. The echoes of the generations is almost deafening sometimes!
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Mary Lee, what an intense time for you. I love the image of all of you sharing lunch together each day. There’s a poem in your final line for sure!
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This is such a poignant poem, Molly. As my children grow older (both are in their 30s now!) I realize that they really don’t let go. The bond is different, to be sure, but always there.
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