finding words while hunting mushrooms

 

We walked and gathered mushrooms

I was glad that the words were about mushrooms,

I had so little to say.

Long ago, the nicest young woman at the Saugatauk family camp

asked me why I am so serious

At seven, this was a serious accusation and it hurt me deeply

I remember this now as I reflect on the day, I often do,

that I think many things but do not speak.

Saying good-bye is the hardest thing to do

 

She pulled on her cowgirl boots,  I zipped them up.

We pulled her Joan of Arc shirt over her head and she was ready to go.

I wasn't ready to let her go, this impossibly busy little girl

who pulled her diaper off when she was supposed to be napping,

loved to wear a dozen of my necklaces at a time,  explored the workings

of bike pumps and irrigation systems,  a lover of buttons;

the showers at Scott Carpenter pool, the keypad on the door, keyboards

and calculators, 

this is the girl who loves to walk Bella in the morning, as long as she holds 

the leash, only letting it go so as to run up the hill with Mimi,

touching the fence before singing on her way down.  

We learned to open clothespins and hang laundry in the back yard,

mopped the floor after she spilled a cup of water...

Yes, she may be ready to go, but I am not ready to let her go.

and yet, she did leave and tears came to my eyes.