through unpainted fence posts,
i peer into your world.
my eyes move from flower sundresses
to spring jackets and sweaters flung
at the gate’s latch.
the pageantry makes me cry.
i can’t enter even with your light invitation.
i look and do not see my children.
i’ve been told they are dancing in heaven.
but, i never taught them rhythm nor holiness.
maybe they learned underneath my irregular heart beat,
before i let them go, pushing them away and out
into the arms of others who could bare their embraces.