A Mother's Notes from a Tightrope

A Mother’s Notes from a Tightrope

 

One foot across and one foot back, the rope begins to swap.

Trembling, threatening underneath my nerves begin to fray.

If I reach forward and help him out will he ever learn to be?

An independent man able to handle his responsibilities.

Can I stay still and watch him fall and slam into mistakes?

It stabs within my mother’s heart with every fall he takes.

The tightrope pings and sings for me to finally pick a side.

Forwards of backwards, will I be a hindrance or a guide?

From down below I hear my peers, the motherhood brigade.

Shouting cheers or their own fears, my thoughts to dissuade.

I shut them out and watch my boy balancing along with me.

But which do I see, my baby or the man he’ll grow to be?

Do I run and pick him up and remember when he forgets?

To do his homework, clean his room, and fed all the pets.

Or am I too shrill and colder still when I rant and rave?

At all his neglected errors and mistakes, he’s ever made.

So I balance upon the tightrope, with a mother’s careful pace

And hope my own mistakes don’t land us on our face.