To be a Child Again

Now that you are gone,
I make a wish on every falling star I see
(they are few and far between)
to travel back in time,
have you tuck me up in bed so tight,
sing our favourite lullabies
and then kiss me goodnight.

I want to know that you’ll be there
on Christmas morning when I wake,
to be a child again,
to hold on to that memory
afresh, and know that no-one
on this earth can break
my heart again.

Kim M. Russell, 6th December 2018

Me with Mum037

My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman: Homecoming

Sherry reminds us that, at this time of year, our thoughts turn to those we love. It is a time of coming home, sharing the holidays with those closest to us, celebrating love and connection. She says that it seems we spend a lot of time looking back, as the decades roll by, sometimes with chagrin, at times with regret, but most often with nostalgia.

Sherry asks us to write poems that take us back to the people we remember, the places of homecoming at Christmas – and if we don’t celebrate Christmas, it can be a homecoming for whatever celebration brings us and our dear ones together.

24 thoughts on “To be a Child Again”

  3. It takes a long time to learn to trust again. I don’t know how many years for me, certainly over ten. Now we’ve been married over 45 years, we are still in love.
    ..

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  6. “have you tuck me up in bed so tight,
    sing our favourite lullabies
    and then kiss me goodnight”

    Kim, I literally think about this almost every night — how badly I want my mom to tuck me in again, to sing to me, to kiss my forehead. I can see the specific way her narrow lips puckered when she was young and coming in for a peck. I miss it more than anything in the world.

    Thank goodness I memorized all the lullabies and have sung them to my own children. It’s sort of a legacy, I hope — to pass that memory, those words, down through the generations. Then I’ve added a couple of my own, so hopefully that blending keeps the family bloodline alive with past maternal magic.

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    1. I’m the same, and now I have a grandson to share the lullabies. I see my mum every time I look in the mirror, which is a comfort. Thank you for reading and commenting. 😊

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  8. Thanks Kim – I tend a mother who won’t be around much longer, and my Christmas memories of her are far different from my father, who was always one foot out the door on some self-important mission. The last line is precious and ironic both — safe in one sense because in another the world’s heart has already been forever broken.

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