Learning to Walk

We learnt to walk together,
my mother and I.
She watched my falters with those
oceanic eyes,
so blue and deep and troubled.
Our smiles met and kissed
but we each had our worries.
Mine: would I fall? would she catch me?
would it hurt? when can I eat?
Hers: where is he? is he safe?
is there a woman? do I know her?
am I ugly? am I fat?
is this boy at my breast
the deathmound of my marriage?
will I fall? will he catch me?
She was kneeling, I stood
uncertain, trembling.
I thought I couldn't do it
but I did and laughed
at the improbability.
She kept her nerve and let me totter,
let me stand as she did,
tall and blonde and proud in her
womanhood.


(With thanks to Stephen Vizinczey's "In Praise of Older Women", chapter 13.)