She’s standing on the stage under a spotlight

She’s standing on the stage under a spotlight

that makes her hair look like a different color.

Her new blazer has a crease so sharp and bright

it makes every other memory feel much duller.

She takes the trophy with a practiced, steady hand

and looks right past me to the back of the room.

She’s standing on a patch of high and solid land

while I’m down here, waiting for the gloom.

The floor is waxed to a dangerous, high shine.

She walks across it like she’s never going to slip.

I’m gripping the edge of the seat, crossing the line

between a parent’s pride and a losing grip.