Early in the morning you eat alone.
Eggs and grease litter the plate, almost finished.
The coffee freshly refilled.
Another day in the diner.
Across the room four old men laugh,
then look over at your table
like unruly children,
caught in the act.
The waitress is young,
younger than your own daughter,
and twice as lost.
She pours herself out to any who will listen,
or at least pretend to,
a vagabond child without home
or love or even the tiniest root.
You have seen a dozen of them here,
and watched them leave without a trace.
Your notebook lies open in front of you.
Somehow you feel you should have wisdom today,
something to offer your son
beyond the love and acceptance that has been his
since the day of his birth.
But that is all you have ever had,
for him and his sister before him.
That has been your offering.
All else has been fluff.
dandelion seeds in the wind.
waiting for the fall, the rain,
and at last,
that is entirely
About this poem.
My son graduates from High School tonight. My daughter graduated from college in the spring.
Theirs has been an extraordinary journey, and I have been privileged to be part of it.