The fingers crept in so quickly
the blood they drew went unnoticed,
another word added to the repertoire
with such swiftness I barely had time
to notice the trailing eddies, let alone
buy new shoes or at least change gears
for another season with flowers
whose names need remembering,
an olive tree whose reach needs subduing,
and the tantrums for favorite clothes
grown suddenly too small or too warm.
The bus stops no longer have names,
only intimacy, and even their touch
has lost its appeal, yet still I’ll count
the shades of blue between us,
each hue a testament to tomorrow
and the pace your determination has set:
Yes, you will take your bath now.
No, pajamas are not for wearing to school.
I don’t care if you don’t want to go home yet,
we’re leaving anyway, even with your tears.