Our children were standing
in their play-pen
When Jamie tugged and lifted
the bottom of Chelsea’s
Night dress. What I imagined
was a scene
At Chelsea’s wedding in
twenty years as her sister
Adjusts her bridal train and
calms
Her with the memory of their
first day
In school when, hand in
hand, they flew
With only one lunch bag
between them,
Which they shared that noon
without bothering
To call you at home.
When toddlers bend their
faces into frowns
Or lift them into smiles, it
draws no lines
Upon their skin that I can
see, so when I hold
Chelsea in my arms, in a
blanket finer
Than eider down, I only
imagine
The corner of her eyes
crinkling with laughter
As she and Jamie reminisce
over coffee,
Talking about the way you
had gotten
Them to do their eighth
grade science
Project on the life cycle of
the Hawaiian goose.
Ah, Diane, we are already
old for our daughters’
Eyes. Why do my own eyes see
them
So far beyond us, even while
we are waiting
To cast a thousand more diapers from the nest?
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