After nine months becoming,
the fullness of time is upon me.
I am pushed by a power somewhere within.
I feel the pressure.
I ride the wave.
I gather my courage, open the door, walk on through.
After five years of a little kids freedom,
and I don’t remember how
I got that scar on the back of my knee,
an imposing red-brick building
looms before me.
I gather my courage, open the door, walk on through.
After twelve years of maturing, a little,
and I can’t remember
the pretty girls name who gave that first kiss
and broke my heart.
I stand in the hallway.
Mom cries, but smiles through tear-soaked cheeks,
Dads hand on my shoulder.
I feel his firm nudge on my back.
I gather my courage, open the door, walk on through.Two, or four, or
many years more,
one, well, maybe two, telephone calls,
“Hello, Dad?
Did you really rent out my room?”
And failing and learning
and failing to learn and learning to fail
and learning by failing and learning the tasks of living,
living waits.
I gather my courage, open the door, walk on through.
After a moment, or a year,
and a few awkward answers to
“Where’s what’s her name?”,
through tear-blurred eyes, I see at the back of the church
the coalessing of my dreams floating toward me.
She stands beside me.
We hold hands.
Vague words are mumbled.
We are introduced.
A new us.
We gather our courage, open the door, walk on through.
In the snap of a finger,
in a blurr of plans and oops,
a cow-licked urchin, and a giggling princess
running past me, calling me Daddy,
(who are they yelling to?)
Before I can catch my breath,
they fidget by the door.
They look back at us with a glance.
There will never be a nudge for them.
They gather their courage, open the door, walk on through.
A minute later,
two little rug rats, looking a little like us,
he has my ears, poor kid.
She has my Nancys eyes, fortunate child.
They call us Mima and Poppa
and then they are a cop and a teacher,
with us for Christmas.
They gather their courage,
not letting the door bump their butts, walk on through.Then,
“… a trans-escemic what?”
And then,
“…yes, long-term-care is costly.”
And then that diamond gate, glory shinning behind, opens.
I let go of hands.
I gather my courage.
and I am through.