abchan
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"Your Little Girl" (a poem)
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Jul 16 01:31 UTC 1997 |
I wrote this not so long ago. I know this isn't the poetry conference but
I get the feeling the people here will relate to it anyhow.
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Your Little Girl
The first one is always precious
The day she is born, you look down upon her and she's a miracle,
You can hardly believe that it was you who brought her to this world,
As you bring her home from the hospital, you can't wait to show her off,
You take picture after picture of her, both snapshots and video camera.
You write down every date when she starts to do something different,
The day she smiles at you, the day you feel her first tooth,
You smile the first time she utters "Mama" and sleeps through the night,
The day she starts to crawl, the day she starts to walk, then run.
You watch her as she learns to talk to you, carefully pronouncing words,
Correcting her sentences and speech patterns, you find her mistakes cute,
You keep your patience as she goes through the terrible twos and throws food,
It'll be over and she will once again be my sweet angel, you remind yourself.
You hesitantly send her to nursery school,
and hope that her teachers are kind,
Not wanting to let her go, but knowing it's for her own good in the long run,
Hoping she'll make friends, and worrying if the other kids will pick on her,
You watch her every day as she comes home, hoping she's happy there.
You lead her to the first day of kindergarten
and watch her play with other children,
She seems so little yet you know that you'll have to leave her there all day,
Not just for a few hours. You hope that she is obedient,
listens to her teacher,
You hope she doesn't cause trouble or pick fights and become the school bully.
You watch her as she goes through elementary school, year after year,
When she runs home excited, you listen to her tell you what she's learned,
"Plants need sunlight and water to grow, chloroplasts make them green,
Did you know that everything is made up of cells and they have a nucleus?"
Suddenly she's growing up. "Mama, I can write cursive now. I'm not a little
kid anymore."
Has she stopped needing you? "We have a spelling bee tomorrow. Can you come
watch?"
Maybe not, but still. "Mama, I don't need you to read to me anymore, I can
read myself.
I'm too big for bedtime stories. I know that there's no such thing as Santa
Claus."
You watch the big transition as she leaves from elementary school to junior
high.
She's still your little baby and you think nothing of walking to the bus stop
with her.
"Mama, stop embarrassing me! I can get on the bus alone! My friends will
laugh!"
You understand her anxiety, but you can't bring yourself to let her go, not
quite yet.
She turns thirteen and you approach her one day. "May I take a picture of
you?
Grandma and Grandpa want to show it to their friends." She runs all over the
house.
"Mama, I need a haircut! Where is my nice dress? I can't smile with teeth;
I have braces!"
You suddenly realize her interest in boys and the need she feels to look
pretty.
High school comes and suddenly she's staying up late writing papers and
studying.
"Shouldn't you go to sleep?" you ask as the clock hits midnight and she's
still typing.
"Mama, this is due tomorrow. I started it last week but I didn't know it'd
be so long.
Just go to sleep Mama, I need to work. I promise to sleep as soon as I'm
done."
You watch her as she takes her SAT's, AP exams, midterms and final exams,
The joy on her face when she does well as well as the pain when she doesn't,
You hear her shriek in joy when she passes her written test in driver theory
class,
Again when she gets her driving permit and finally her driver's license.
You've never been prouder the day she checks the mail, finds the envelope,
Rips it open and yells, "I got in! Mama, I got into college! I'm going to
college!"
You're excited as she is when you watch her as she makes plans for next year,
As she decides on which college, which dorm to live in and which classes to
take.
You can't believe how beautiful she is when she gets ready to go to her prom,
"Mama, I don't want a curfew. My friends want to go to the diner later."
You sigh and make this the one exception and tell her to be cautious.
"Mama, I'm always careful. I'm no fool. You know me better than that."
The days turn into weeks, the weeks into months and the months into years,
You can't believe how quickly the past eighteen years have gone by,
Wasn't it only yesterday she was your baby? You held her for the first time.
You read to her and played games with her and made her eat her dinner.
But although it seems like yesterday, it was a long time ago, especially to
her,
You watch as she grows up into a mature responsible adult and loses her
innocence.
She makes her own decisions now, and although you don't always approve,
You know she has her reasons and that she's got a good head on her shoulders.
Yet the little voice is still there in the back of your head, reminding you
of the past.
"Mama, when I grow up, I want to be just like you." You remember her say.
You're glad she's done better than you ever had and you're happy for her.
Somehow, though, you can't help wishing you could hear that voice again.
Because no matter how old she gets, she will always be your little girl.
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(The indentations signify that it is part of the previous line)
Comments are welcomed.
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