Jewels of Giza
oh, how the pyramid, does grow and grow.
how was i to know?
i signed that dotted line, in repose.
should have dotted i’s and crossed my legs.
my first hint arrived with labor pains.
i squatted jewels – diamond, ruby, emerald.
wore expert rings with the likes of dr. spock.
i devoured each sweet honey book.
but woe to me, i thought i’d suffer solely from “empty nest”.
those birds flew high and strong, then crooked and lopsided.
i wracked my brain, contemplated walking the plank.
sleepwalking, i found profundity, a book of eureka gold.
apparently, there are experts in rearing “adult children”.
i furiously speed read, all the pages. i scanned its horizon
for clues and answers. they came with blue sky ribbons.
i slid to the floor, bewildered, wide-eyed, relieved.
then my children became experts, in rearing their own.
taught me how to use my adult voice - unlike a duck,
no squeaking allowed. and how i should let them cry,
and let them fall. who’d ever heard such crazy talk?
i’d still sign that dotted line, but with eyes open wide.
my husband and i reside at the precipice of the pyramid.
it quakes with birth pangs of shattered glass.
still, our family’s strong. none will crumble. none will fall.
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