I’ve been thinking of one of my favorite poems today. Published some time ago in Mothering Magazine, it is called “Take Pictures” and is a poignant look at how fast it all goes. The end gets me in my heart every time I read it:
“Holding tight to my neck, my son
trusts – he knows no other way – my touch lightly
dries his tears. I am his queen, his goddess, handily
his slave. Blink, it’s a photo again, a trick of the eye,
a frozen captive of time, paper, light and silver: my son
is a grown man: he drinks from his own hand.
Reader, I urge you,
spin slowly, take pictures, remember to laugh.” (emphasis mine).
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