Old breadcrumbs litter the placemat where
my little one had sat that morning.
That morning I told her she was running too
late to finish the PB&J with fine
pineapple pieces she had made for herself.
She gobbled the thing up in seconds, and with
a mouth still full she walked over and mumbled
bye. I wiped juice leaking out the corner, and
with a snort and a kiss to her forehead I
said see ya’, have fun. And with that she was out
the door, her red backpack one strapped like the
baseball boys did.
All that’s left are these breadcrumbs. I can’t
get myself to clean them up and throw
them away. I see them every day,
every meal, every middle of the
night as I peck on pineapple PB&Js.
As much as I know these crumbs must go, I don’t
regret for a second letting her eat that sandwich
the way she did. It was hell to raise such a rebel,
but she was never going to let anyone stop
her from what she wanted, including me. And she
makes me proud. I’ll clean it up eventually, but
for now, my little one’s breadcrumbs stay.
Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
This one was very emotional for me to write.
I cried while writing it, and I haven’t cried while writing since Dear Daughter Of Mine. I mean, I guess one can say I cried while writing (I must attest…), but I don’t believe that counts because those were slight tears of joy that didn’t even roll down my face. I can get those from laughing a bunch, or after ***, too… wow, now you know a bit too much about me.
Anyways, I’m quite sadistic, so I hope this poem makes you cry too. Enjoy.