PART ONE
So many times I’ve stood
on the brink of something
with butterflies
on the edge, clammy.
She looks and looks
but never jumps
Dreams and dreams
but never does
The cliff comes again
and again, once again
The water is clear
and she knows how to swim.
Light as air
There they go
And heavy as clay
There she stays
PART TWO
I thought she would
but she never did.
Maybe she would only be brave,
as a kid.
Looking and dreaming
but never leaping;
I can assure you,
it’s for a very good reason.
So I don’t get my hair wet
and because I have kids—
They shouldn’t be orphaned
over something their mother did.
I slowly back away
and there the butterflies go,
migrating south
to someone not so slow.
PART THREE
I thought she never would
but finally she did.
There’s not much time
when those kids will be kids.
I want them to shout
and I want them to gallop
on down the trail and leap
through sunset meadows
in the midnight sun
and to never forget
to always float away
under the puffy clouds.
But it starts with a jump,
so a single step forward she takes.
One flash, and one splash.
The water is clear and I know how to swim.