View Full Version : On My Littlest One Letting Go

August 29th, 2005, 05:46 AM
On My Littlest One Letting Go

A wedding day, a happy day, a party in the air,
there stood my littlest one, now four, still in her golden hair.
Yellow locks pulled back into a silky lavender bow,
ringlets of curls surrounding her like a glowing white halo.

I don’t know what compelled her to go to the dance floor by herself,
usually the shy one hiding behind me, blue-eyed little elf.
But she stood proud on the dance floor in her flowery white dress,
then slid her frilly socks to the song with endearing finesse.

Grace beyond her years,
she closed her eyes and drifted slow.
Where she went in her waking dream,
I wished I could know.
I hoped she was the honored guest,,
in fairy tale clichés,
where white horses, princes, and the people, too,
bowed to her hypnotic sways.
She twirled in succinct circles,
chin up and arms out wide.
Her fingers danced in the air,
then she stepped from side to side.
I was just about to go there with her,
but realized this was not my show.
Then my tears came all too quickly,
as I felt her letting go.

My heart jumped twenty years from that moment to a dream,
of her standing taller than me in a white gown with beaded sheen,
of a man who sees what I see as he dances to her whims,
as he whispers promises like I once did as she leans into him.

When their dance is over she sways her way to where I stand,
pulls me in with her light smile and leads me out with her taken hand.
She shows me to the dance floor and cries, “Mom, can’t you see,”
“you instilled in me your greatest gift, this grace, you gave to me!”

She closes her eyes and leaves the earth,
to go to the places I wish to know.
As an older mother, even still,
I long to go wherever she goes.
Now she twirls in sophisticated circles,
and she can’t describe in words,
I know the only way to go with her
is in keeping with her turns.
Her tiny swirling fingers brought me back,
to the tears falling from my chin.
I didn't want to miss another step,
of the joy she relished in.

People slowly crowded the dance floor but my girl never saw them dance.
There was nothing that could wake her from her rhythmic musical trance,
until I swayed out to meet her and she skipped over to me,
pulled me with her tiny hands and said, “Show me how you turn, so I’ll see what you see.”

I picked her up and spun her,
in a mother’s desperate embrace,
to etch into my soul the knowing look,
of her soft little girl face,
when I told her in my tears,
“I’d much rather go with you where you drifted to,”
and she touched her hands to my wet cheeks and said,
“Mommy, you were there! I was dancing there with you.”