I want to know how to not be afraid –
how to jump with my eyes closed, like I did
when we were young,
When I believed that death was a thing
that happened to the old.
You were taller then (I’m sure of it)
and there were no specks of gray in your hair,
no wrinkles creased deep into the skin by your eyes
I thought we could rule the world –
or travel it, at least.
Instead, we have been mostly still, for years,
and fashioned our own little planet here,
in our Victorian terrace,
from blood and sweat and belly laughs
while we wrestle our boys on the floor,
while we teach them to be brave –
while we learn for ourselves
that brave doesn’t mean what it once did.
Brave means laying bare our bodies and our hearts,
and believing we will still be here in the morning.