The child is grownHair parted in the middle,
The pigtails fell lose
Some time ago.
Can't say I'm sorry
To have traded the jumper
For a pair of fading jeans.
Some things I miss, though:
My mother's careful hands
working through the tangled
mess of curls,
clothes neatly pressed and starched
skillful fingers making perfect bows
of the ked laces.
Some mornings the only thing that keeps me going
is that one instruction:
"Make a loop, over and through."
The hair I've left to its own devices,
clothes haven't seen an iron in years.
I don't always sit with my legs together
or keep my elbows off the table
but one thing I got right:
Lose ends always need tying.