She peeks into my room
afraid to disturb my writing….
Mom, can I show you what
I’m packing for Chicago?
Sure, I say, and sadly she is surprised that
I’ll actually stop and look right now.
Shirts, skirts, shorts, leggings all laid out,
alongside her plans, hopes, and dreams.
Does this look ok? Will I look older? Did I choose the right things?
It’s been a long time since I’ve been there.
Leaning in, I see her worry unfolded, wanting to be sure of choosing correctly;
part of me thinks it’s not just about clothes.
I say your choices are great – are they a comfortable fit for you, do they make you happy?
I hope she hears I’m talking about more than clothes.
Just remember, dear one, take your dreams with you too,
don’t toss them into the pile of rejected sweaters.