One

When I was little (you were littler)

I pressed my nose to the glass

Waiting for your six-hour journey

To end at our steps.

Hoped you were still awake

So we could braid our hair

And sing

And pretend to understand

Your dad and my mom.

So we could visit the park

That you gave a new name

And hunt for eggs

And (what else did we do?)

When I was older (not too much older)

You were the only one

Who thought I was cool.

I knew things

(or I thought I did)

like how to dry weed

kiss a boy

fall in love.

Or I pretended to

And you believed.

Your green eyes looking up at me

(can that be true?)

your small self in my clothes.

When you grew up

(you became the older one, you know)

you passed through my memories --

showed me how it's really done,

that falling in love stuff

and the rest, too.

And then I watched in awe

As you moved into yourself,

Three continents, two degrees

Your blonde hair Egyptian black.

But moreover claiming your words,

Your child,

As your own.

When I caught up,

We slowed our pace and moved through life

(our own and, again, each other's)

sometimes like adults

(work sleep eat work)

sometimes like children

(I won't go to sleep)

sometimes as one

(full circle, full table, secrets kept)

looking back

sometimes with wisdom

or (wine and) song

but never regret.