"Don't let go"
She wants the training wheels put back on.
But they don’t fit this new bike, so
we’re on the grass in a nearby school yard.
I’m jogging along beside her, my hand on the seat
as she steers toward her mother.
“Don’t let go, Daddy,” she says. “Don’t let go.”
But, of course, I have to let go.
If I don’t let go, she will not ride her bike.
She will not achieve this rite of passage.
After several false starts, I let go, and off she goes
the miracle of balance, velocity, understanding,
body memory, all inside her unbounded glee.
She rides toward her mother, peddling
for all she’s worth.
I stop. Watch through my own happy sadness –
heartache joy. I let go.
Watch her move
away from me.