by Richard Vince

No matter how I try to make it better,
It only gets worse as we move
Ever further from where we began.

She was never serious, until I gave her
Something serious to deal with.
She was always a child, with woolly hat
And red wellingtons, until I made her
Grow up that night.

And suddenly, after I said what I could
No longer keep to myself,
There were many words I could not use,
Many thoughts that were forbidden
Lest they found unintended expression.

So words gradually lost ground to
Silence, and thoughts were packed away,
Out of sight and out, eventually, of memory.

Her advice was also forgotten, the pearl
Of wisdom she grew inside her shell.
Perhaps I have done what she asked me to
Avoid; perhaps I have grown up after all.

Sitting here in an air conditioned hotel room
On a foreign holiday, I find myself wondering
How serious she is now; whether the coming of
Her late twenties has spirited her finally
Away from childhood; whether she thinks
Of me as I think of her.


Posted on 09/10/2013
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Ken Harnisch on 09/11/13 at 07:51 PM

I hope so Richard, but experience tells me growing up is a longer, slower process. I love the granite wisdom of this poem.

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