Teeter

My bones creak and scrape,

Under the weight of my body.

Not quite old but no longer new.

Used.

Maybe refurbished, if I work hard.

Never New.

New.

Like my tireless, toddling boy.

His elasticity snaps him back into shape,

despite impressive efforts to break in half.

An invincible rubber band,

Squeezing my world into the narrowest view.

My body is used but his is still in its mold.

No, it is the mold.

And it is mine to fill,

With my karma, my ambition, my dreams.

So as we teeter on that scale,

That I may sink,

And he may rise.

This broken, empty body will yearn for earth,

And his the sky.