“Waiting in the car for kid’s swim practice to end”

Rain mottles the windshield in shimmering veins,  
Wipers sweep arcs like the lifting of planes,  
The dashboard clock ticks in slow-motion rhyme—  
This hour’s an island, adrift in its time.

Through the window: the pool house, tile-blue and bright,  
Muffled splashes, echoes, a mosaic of light.  
Inside, my daughter becomes someone braver—  
A silver-capped torpedo with butterfly flair.

Coffee steam swirls from a travel cup’s lip,  
Condensation scribbles on fingers that grip  
A novel unread, a phone glowing dull  
With errands and emails I half-heartedly cull.

Minivan kingdom: a parent’s domain,  
Cheerios hiding in old windowpane,  
School shoes kicked under the passenger seat—  
Remnants of childhood, persistent, discreet.

Sometimes, I envy her freedom, her form—  
The staccato of strokes through water so warm.  
Yet here is my calm—this waiting, this pause,  
The hush in the engine, the world on its claws.

Every so often, she dashes in wet,  
Towel-caped hero, her triumph unmet  
By medals or fanfare, just my gentle cheer:  
Did you have fun today?  
Was I close?  
I am here.

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