To a Teenage Daughter

In my belly,
in my arms,
and on my back—
when did I stop
carrying you?
What was the moment that,
unknowingly,
I eased you to your feet
for the last time?
What’s final hides
its own finality.

And yet, I still can feel
the easy squeeze of thighs
wrapping my waist, the pinch
of moistened fingers
on my shoulders
as I bounced you off to bed,
snug on my back, a camel
bounding on a carpet desert.

When did you grow
too heavy for my hold?
When did I grow
too heavy for your comfort?
When did Love’s grasp
morph to letting go?

Sometimes in sleep,
my arms are icy boughs
arching above a black expanse
of sky, lifting you to light,
feeling your light
body slowly slipping
from my branches.

What was the moment that,
unknowingly,
I eased you to your feet
for the last time?
What’s final hides
its own finality
What do you carry, unknowingly,
of me?