On Turning Nine

The unnatural pink glow from your lava lamp 
is now the hue in which I see you
at night, all snuggled with your brother,
the two of you atop ringlets of purple, swirls 
on the comforter that you chose last year from Target.

 
Your fairy pi’s tossed carelessly 
over the edge of the bunk
and the bottom bed is empty
because he is scared and you 
comfort him.

 
In the quiet of the midnight hour
your face is beautiful – 
not the drowsy glow of waking up,
nor the joyful grin of going to school, 
not even the sweet innocence of 
trusting love, just beautiful. 

 
Fine tendrils of dark blond caress
your cheek, my hand too 
touches softness littered with freckles. 
Evidence of your time in the sun.

 
Too large teeth and wide gaps
make your young up face all the more precious
and in the midst of the growing 
I can see the becoming. 

 
A little sigh escapes your lips, your goodnight 
thought still echoing:

“Today was my last full day of being eight years old.”

Note: This poem is part of my Lenten discipline, in which I attempt to cultivate space and quiet in order to hear from God and respond with poetry. Today is also my daughter’s ninth birthday, a day surely worthy of reflection. Here is another post about my daughter and the passing of time.

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2 thoughts on “On Turning Nine

  1. Beautifully written, heartfelt emotions expressed. And take it from me, since I am Nana and Nana knows everything, that these days pass all too quickly. Enjoy them, as I know you do.

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