One of the first things David and I agreed on when we met was “the kids come first.” Falling in love in your 50s and 60s is complicated for many reasons, and how a new relationship will play out for your children can be one of the trickiest. Luckily for us, it has worked out well — our kids get along with each other and with each of us.
Good thing, because no matter how old your children, you’re still their parent. Maybe even more so when one parent has died. That fact and the glorious foliage this morning got me thinking about this poem I wrote at least 20 years ago.
The boy at the bus stop
tries to break his record of ten
leaves caught falling
from the maple,
leaves yellow as butter
cupping foggy morning light.
Not only leaves stir in the fog;
crows rattle branches, muzzle loaders
pock the morning with shots,
bus doors yawn open and shut,
children leave, come home,