My child teaches the wisdom of no escape

In the bath tub he makes magic
potion with shaving cream.
“It can turn people into bears
and fish and fleas,” he says.

“May I have some?” I ask.
And add, “I want to be a bird.”

He pulls the frothy bottle close
to his chest, hand over its lip,
grins, “No…you’d never be
our mom… ever again.”

And I am pegged. Does he know
I want to fly away? Not forever.
Just today. And maybe tomorrow.
Or a week. No, a year. West of here.

“Can you make a potion that wears
away so I can turn back into me?”

He shakes his head no.  I smile and leave
him singing of bees. I think, he is right,
there is no getting away from me.

2007

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