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2020-10-16T17:41:04-04:00October 13th, 2020|Parenthood|

The perfect being I never was

For years, I was a fairy,
not made of smells
or moods.

My children looked up at my face
like they could hardly believe
their luck.

And neither of us noticed
when that first layer,
so thin,
fell away.

But then another
and another,
until yesterday
my son declared,
as I was reading to him,
that my armpits smelled
like hot dog buns.

And my daughter added
that my face looks creepy
when I yawn.

So it begins,
the slow decomposition
of that perfect being
that I never really was,
but who they needed
to believe in
for so long,

and even though
I smell my armpits later,
and yawn in front
of the mirror,
just to see if it’s true,

I know it is,
in the same reluctant way I know
this is all part
of their inevitable need
to be free.

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