Ann's Voice

The Cygnet Princess

 

 

 

My little ones are big ones now and although I dreamed (then) of these child free days, I find I miss them horribly. So I’ve been thinking of their smallness, the “when they were mine” and close by and this poem came to mind. So for Mother’s Day, I ask for your indulgence while I share-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Cygnet Princess

 

His red neck is how she knows
he is wild. He head bent toward hers,
red neck long and bowed,
on a lake far from here.
He takes her ticket,
(she always has tickets)
moves aside, grants her permission
to swim. The story ends here.
Her hands poised above play-dough.
“Gives me permission,”
her words.
She’s only four.
We’re interrupted.
Her father whisks
things away, runs bath water.
I know the memory of a four-year-old,
I know this story’s gone,
and yet, as she strips,
so long, too lean,

her back, knobby, exposed,
awkward,
her foot poised above bubbles,
I see the wild red necked swan –
red necked? No, vermillion—
tuck her ticket beneath his wing.
I can only watch
as she glides across the water,
each moment drifting
farther from the shore.

 

 

 

4 replies »

  1. I don’t need to give you indulgence for this; I need to express my gratitude. This was beautiful. As my kids stand poised between child and adult, this speaks to me so fully and on so many levels. Drifting. Further and further. Yes.

    Like

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