~ The Poet's Place Cafe~

Rite of Passage

A speech finished.
A burden diminished.

With a sigh and tinny plop,
I collapse into a folding chair,
careful not to snag my gown,
grinning to endless iterations
of Pomp and Circumstance.

A wistful tear slithers,
adolescence withers.

When the moment comes,
for the first time,
a two-fingered fling
of a black square cap
actually feels fitting.

A soggy-cheeked hug,
heartstrings tug.

Still, this isn’t the end.
Graduation to this new life,
so similar to the old,
except, for the first time,
it was mine.