Long ago one of my small children asked if I wanted to play a board game. It was evening and I was tired, so tired, beyond tired.

I’m sorry, honey. But I think I’m just too tired.

Would you like to read a book together instead?

How many more times would my child want the simple pleasure of my company? Even then, in the moment, I knew saying no would be something I’d regret forever. Now I look back through the tunnel of years at my child’s quiet nod, their small back disappearing down the hallway.

Wished Away, by Kathleen Wedl

I wish for the days I wished
my teen granddaughters wouldn’t sprawl
across my silken bed in street clothes
their pollen infested ripped shorts
and indoor/outdoor socks
defiling my anti-allergy refuge
reveling in their secrets and embarrassments
trying their bravado on each other
like leather bustiers. Where was the sage
warning me to be careful
what I wished for, those long afternoons
all breathable air saturated with happy
chittering and chortling. They’re gone.
My satin comforter smooth, fresh
as the first chill of September.

Today I’ll gather apples as the air
becomes crisp, something to put up for winter.
Think how the jewels will glisten under glass.

Click here for more information about poet Kathleen Wedl’s new collection, Ordinary Time.

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My podcast: Words by Winter