The Whole 9 Yards

The past is my safe space.
It asks nothing of me and holds no surprises.
No matter how much I pray, or hope, or manifest,
there is nothing more I can change.

There is a silent power in looking back to say,
you have no hold on me anymore.

Although deep down that is a lie,
because I find comfort in knowing the ending
And it is that certainty
that I find comfort in.

And yet the present won’t hold still

My daughter has begun to say,
“I yayu, Mommy,”
and the sound is so tender
it almost breaks me.

She’s taller now; her face is changing.
Her hands are still small,
but not as tiny as I first held them.
Even her feet have grown.

She loves to run—
as if she’s already taken
a small step toward tomorrow.

How much longer do I get to keep this age—
hers and mine?
Will the end slip past me quietly,
without a moment to announce itself?

One day she will speak in full sentences,
yet in my heart I will still hear
the small, breathy voice
that once said “mama” for the first time.

The best time of my life is now.
And tomorrow—
tomorrow.