Going Away
SUNDAY POEM
GOING AWAY
Strolling on the beach with my son
yesterday, sun licking our faces, a sparkling sea
washed over our feet. I breathed a prayer:
Thank you. Thank you for this day.
Fronds of seaweed licked the tidal sands, flickered,
receded–
returned twirling on the next wave.
A little boy, maybe ten years old–freckles,
sandy hair, nose
buried in a melting ice-cream cone–wailed:
My ice-cream is going away! It’s
going away! His mother looked bemused.
Vanilla ice-cream dripped, a bone-white froth
down his fingers. His mouth a jagged sob, face
flushed, furious with refusal.
All month, since I moved from my beloved
home, a ten-year-old in me has wailed:
My home is going away! It’s going away!
Next month, my son, my beautiful baby
boy-six feet tall now, and married to his love-
is going away. A new city will hold him
in its lap. A new home. He’s going
away. No no no no no. They’re all
going away.
My newsletter subscribers are the first to hear about upcoming classes and programs. From time to time, I also send them special invitations, gifts and offers that are exclusive to my list. To subscribe, please fill out the form below.









