Milkweed
by Lorriann McGarvey

I know I can't hold on to them,
The lean-legged sprawl of boys
My couch is trying to contain.

I knew this day was near.
I have known it for some time.

It is late July.
The milkweed has grown tall in the fields.
I have watched it, whispering, "soon, soon"
To brace myself.

The teardrop pod swells wide,
Its seam a fragile green so pale
It tears my heart to
Know what it must do.

Does the milkweed miss her seeds?
Does she sigh as she relinquishes the
Parachutes of white that take them
Far beyond her fields?

Does she watch her children
Flinging themselves wildly to the wind?
Do they look back?