Only Child
(on the occasion of Rick leaving for college, September, 1957)
By Connie Gilbert
The front door’s lost its slamming,
The stairs their leaping feet.
Bathroom rugs lie flat now,
The towels hang gravely neat.
Food lingers where I leave it,
The coke line shows no gap;
Your room is strangely tidy,
And the newel lacks your cap.
In this house so loudly silent,
With its record player stilled,
My heart leans toward your laughter
In the places it has filled.
When you went off to college,
You took all luggage from the shelf,
But I’m learning only lately,
You took also…all yourself.