Letting Go

by Published on

For Emily

Parents left behind in Holland must have

felt the same loss.

 

What did they care about beaver pelts and land grants?

Eylants and hoeks and kils so far from home.

 

I might resent that siren, New York, if

forty years ago she hadn’t called to me.

I know all the world lies beyond that subway exit.

 

Dice roll, leaves scatter, I made a choice

to move to this place you couldn’t wait to leave.

I understand.

 

When I learned to ride a two-wheeler

Dad ran alongside holding the seat.

I still remember the feeling when I realized

he had let go.

 

Jean Lamberty is a poet living in Dallas.