Summer of ’82

by Marc Mangel

 

She was born in ’75

on a winter day with blue sky

fresh white snow as unblemished as she was.

 

When she was one

she clung by my knee

and didn’t travel far from me

For then the whole world was new.

 

When she was two

she still cried at being alone

but ran and flew

sometimes far from home

and how it please me.

 

When she was three

and start school of sorts

including friend and

playing sports

how she begin to drift

as if a kite

 

When she was four and five and

even six

although outside she played

and from my side she

strayed

and rode her bike

or did a hike

but I was there for her to

cling.

 

But in that fateful summer

beginning at a pool

where we did splash and play

and

ending at a pool where

she could play all the day

with new friends

and let me be.

 

The kite is high

The string is out

it is very taught

It won’t be long before

that old string breaks and

off flies the kite.

 

1 September 1982