Conversations have turned back to that old storm door
It just doesn’t fit with my new kitchen décor.
Though my husband’s convinced that it’s time to let go,
There’re some secrets that only this mother can know…
To this day, Mom sees a tot whose legs barely stand,
Face smashed ‘gainst storm door glass all framed by chubby hands.
His stubby legs bouncing to fun raindrop rhythms
While mom keeps an eye out and works in the kitchen…
In the next breath, her tot becomes her little boy
He’s backyard-bound trailing his trucks and train toy
Small-scale feet cradled in those bright Batman sandals
While wee hands just barely grasp the storm door handle…
Next, all little’s gone, and he’s quite a bit taller –
With backpack, he’s now a primary school scholar.
‘Just a second, son, let mom get the door for you’
‘I can do this, mom – ugh!’ and that big eye roll, too!
Then, her seventh grade guy grabs the handle in haste,
‘Come on, Mom, they’re waiting!’ and ‘We’re gonna be late!’
‘Now, go start the car, son’ and his answer ‘Yes, ma’am!’
‘Please try to close the storm door. Don’t let it’ –WHACK! – ‘slam.’
Much later, Mom spies her Senior sitting one night.
Sixteen years since his head on the door was that height.
She then joins him outside on the front storm door step
They talk of college and what he wants instead...
So, yeah, memories dictate the door stays for now,
But I did give my husband this genuine vow:
When our Marine makes it home safe from foreign shores
We’ll celebrate in style and buy a new storm door!