When I try my best not to say “fuck” as in
it was so fucking adorable when David
used to belt out James Taylor’s
“Shed a Little Light” standing on top
of the coffee table in the living room,
singing into a wooden spoon
as if it were a microphone,
his shirt off, his hair a mass of brown curls.
When I try to act my age,
even though I am wearing
a jean jacket and everyone
else looks a little nicer.
How two families join each other
when a wedding is about to happen
and you all try to be on your best behavior.
How maybe I want to get the award
for the best mother-in-law from the woman
my son is about to marry by making her breakfast
and giving her a necklace I hope she loves.
How she looks at him and he, her.
How it feels a little like a handoff,
not that I am going anywhere,
at least I fucking hope not.
