I Can't Go Yet
I will miss the smell of my daughter’s hair,
And the way she always smells like washing powder and little girl fun.
And the way he curls in my lap and wraps his arms around my neck like he'll never let me go.
When I climb in to bed and the way the wind blows the curtains in the bedroom.
And the sound of closing doors.
Call out 'Mommy' and the way they pout when they start to cry.
And the way it sticks to the roof of my mouth.
And the feel of wet grass under my feet.
And the way it trickles down the spout.
And the sound of bass coming through my car speakers.
And sentences together to make stories.
And the chug chug of my printer.
And of crayons, glue, and finger paint.
I will miss answering a hundred thousand questions everyday;
I will miss being a mommy.
And the rush to get the groceries home.
I will miss banana popsicles, chocolate chips,
fresh strawberries with cream, and banana sandwiches.
And words on a page that pull me to new heights.
I will miss the smell of her perfume.
And rubs my head when I need him most.
I will miss feeling loved.
I will miss being touched.
But mostly, I will miss feeling small in such a great big world.
By T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017