Different Now
The top of your head looks different now,
your graying hair sways gently as
you blow out the candles for your 60th birthday.
The whorl in your hair has given way
to more skin and fewer strands,
ever thin yet hanging onto your scalp like
dandelion fuzz.
The view up here is different now, different from when
you flung me onto your shoulders and
flew me around the park,
my fingers tugging at your roots as we
screamed and hollered at supersonic speed.
It’s not the soft black hair that
overheated on the beach when we fell asleep.
No, it’s different now, it’s the old age
come creeping in,
that brings white and wrinkles,
wrinkles that make me think
of what was rather than what is.
I wish I could rest my hands there as a kid
just one more time.