Little Bridges

A funny thing
about raising kids,
I’ve got two, one’s five, 
the other, four.
Other parents, they can’t help but
confess,
even if you don’t ask
they'll tell you a version of this anyway:
time flies fast
and like a laughing time-lapse
you look down at your phone
you look up,
they’re grown. 
Enjoy it while it lasts
they'll mournfully concede.
But how do we act on this
impossible advice –
try not to blink as the
sand fills the glass?

goodbye goodbye goodbye goodbye

Each plump grain tumbles
through the narrow neck,
every tick of the clock 
a tiny farewell —
giggles and squeals
while squeezing their toes
I'm gonna miss you
and you and you and you
and yes
even the little one,
too.

With each morning stretch
the tips of their fingers
a fraction closer to
poking the sun —
they’re too busy crossing
a million little bridges
so easy to ignore,
invisible thresholds
we're too busy to notice
until it’s the one
out our front
door.