by Suzannah Gilman
I have traveled across mountain and desert
with my firstborn in the belly
of a jet plane.
I have driven him hundreds of miles
more so we could open the doors
and put our footprints on his new world,
this campus so far from home.
My son, who knows all the names
of all the birds, is leaving the nest.
I gather all the strength I have,
barely enough to get back
behind the wheel and leave him to it.
I have better sunset photos that I’ve taken from airplanes, but this is the one I took on August 28, 2005, on my way home from dropping my son at Embry-Riddle. Watching that sun go down was so very hard for me.
Flying home, sunset rushes at me head on
squeezing out all vestiges of light
on this last, dizzying day with my son,
but I hold on and picture him
at the horizon, a hungry hawk soaring
on a warm wind, wings outstretched and steady.
Categories: Suzannah's Voice
The Gloria Sirens 
Reblogged this on I just have to say… and commented:
A trip many parents take in early autumn.
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Love the poem. And you’ll be okay–it’s more fun later on, believe it or not!
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Thanks, Gianna! Well, this young man is now 27 and moved to Houston a year and a half ago. He’s always doing something to make me miss him.
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“My son, who knows all the names
of all the birds…” Gorgeous.
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Reblogged this on Lisa Lanser Rose and commented:
How vividly I remember moving my daughter into her college dormitory for the first time! What a long drive home alone. A beautiful poem that captures that moment.
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