This Much, This Far

I’m terrified

of the day this house is quiet

and I’m still young.

I wouldn’t trade young motherhood

for a few more years of being responsible

for no one but me,

for 2 AMs that aren’t detrimental

to my mental health—

I can’t stomach a lot of things

the way I used to.

I used to wonder if I’d lost something,

in settling down by twenty,

if the concerts and coffee days and

spontaneous day trips,

friendship with people my own age

were things I squandered

to get started on this parenthood thing

young, when maybe starting

ten years later would have been

the way to go.

Since you know, once you’re in it—

there you are.

But what would I have done?

I was always too responsible,

and never found much in a 3 am

That didn’t leave me feeling like I’d

stayed up til 3 am.

And in you I’ve gained the peculiarity

of what it is to grow up, so that I might

grow something of my own,

and know that it is just that:

something I’ve nurtured

and will be nurtured by

until I’m unrecognizable

to my former self,

to all of you

for whom time has passed slower.

That slowness is a gift. Cherish it.

But so is this. And I do.

I traded ten years of my youth

for the chance to know

my great grandchild;

to be a sister to my daughter

and love her children as my own

before I’m too bent,

or else more tired than I already am.

In the back of my mind

I’m always thinking

that if God calls me home shortly—

by some surprise, I mean,

before my hair is grey…

at least I’ve been able to love

this much,

this far;