love, at first

is a species of holding
hold to feed, to rock to sleep
hold to protect from rain
from sun from cold
hold back to keep them
from going too far

then, gradually, it’s about
letting go, letting go of anger
of control, of that sharpened thought
they’ll always be your little girls

after which love becomes transitive
when other men take center point
in their lives, when children result
when you know you must prepare them
for the thought of your own death

at which point
they become the holder
wanting to keep you forever
on the kitchen windowsill
where you can keep an eye on them
every second of their transformed lives