My mother calls out,
Carry me; I need you to take me home.
I'm only three years old
I can barely walk on my own
I shoulder her hands, bigger than my face
I slip and slide on the ice, afraid to fall
I can handle bruises and scrapes
But not if mommy falls too
Gritted baby teeth, frozen tears on cheeks
I rip off the fluffy pink coat, it's too hot
Is she helping at all?
The front door seems too far away
Just a little further, I'll be home soon
Then I can let go, maybe grow, and get up the courage to say
(someday)
I don't need you, like you needed me
I've walked a steep path and now I'm stronger
I will not carry you any longer