An idea that takes getting used to

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An idea that takes getting used to:

Your firstborn daughter 

gets married.

She flashes the gold ring

and suddenly the tiny hand

you clutched so tightly at the park

as she slid down the slide

or swung on the swing

no longer looks familiar.

You stood by 

as she went from hardly making decisions 

to making most decisions,

some good, some bad,

some with more head than heart

and vice versa

and you always felt part 

of that back and forth

like a clock's pendulum

as her days ticked forward

there were decisions 

you scrutinized 

looking for signs of character

or lack of it, 

decisions you judged 

in your head, tongue held,

and others you couldn't hold back on

but not this one,

the only one that truly matters, 

with a gravity

that will make it stick

hopefully 

the choice of a lifelong partner. 

Now you're on the sidelines

a bystander

and it occurs to you 

for the first time 

she's always been her own person,

she never belonged to you,

all you ever really had

were memories, expectations 

and hopes;

One line follows the next

with an end rhyme

or without one,

there's a rhythm to it

a sense 

you're trying to catch

and you feel alone 

you don't get it 

like one

who learned in school

how to hate poetry.