Jennifer L. Freed
2 a.m. Letting You Go
Your footsteps in the hall,
down the stairs. Gentle creak
and click of the front door opening, closing
you off into the dark.
I know you’ve been jolted awake
again.
Or have not slept.
In the morning you’ll refuse to speak
of this–how you walk
your dread away. You will ask me
to pick you up from school. You will act
happy.
I am learning
that I can
not save you.
I am learning
I can only let you
go.
I lie awake,
give thanks for gentle streets, our quiet
town. For the dog
who trots beside you.
I am learning how to wait
till you come home.