A poem I wrote earlier this year, from a tender moment of saying goodbye.
“Goodbye Son.”
That’s what I said to him,
holding back my tears,
when he went south to begin college.
He left with one of my old frying pans
and a wooden spatula I’d been given recently.
And a new crockpot I bought for him,
like one that my grandparents gave to me
when I moved away.
I wished I could have given him more.
“I’m proud of you.
You have a good heart.
A good mind.
Do some good.”
We hugged.
Two softened men.
He held it a little extra,
which was tender to me,
and which was what I wanted to do.
“I wish for him everything
that I would wish for myself.”
That’s what I said to the stars
as he drove away that night.
“Good friends.
Good teachers.
Ease.
Opening up in his soul.
People who love him.
People who can see him
and know immediately
how absolutely stunning he is
just as he is.”
