Boyhood My son sits next to me and shares his ideas without pausing to breathe. Imagination running full speed— worlds and stories burst into existence. Bedroom filled with sketches taped floor to ceiling. Striking creatures, maps, tales of lost folklore. Excitement materializing. I’m in total awe: his peers are on Snapchat scrolling, texting, don’t bother with imaginary play, on their phones, all grownup. Poem from Fire And Flourishing
I’m a mom and time with my boys at home is dwindling; ages 14 and 12. My oldest son will be a sophomore in High School next year. It’s hard to wrap my mind around how quickly life is moving.
This poem makes me cry, when I read it now, I tear up. My poetry book feels like a time capsule or keepsake that I will cherish for the rest of my life. When I’m 85 years old, it will still be sitting on my bookshelf.
Thank you for liking, sharing, and responding. Your thoughtfulness is truly appreciated. 🌸
Kassi, this is such a beautiful and tender snapshot of childhood wonder. You’ve captured the magic of childhood imagination so vividly—the sketches, the stories, the wonder bursting at the seams. That contrast between his creative world and the digital distractions of his peers hit so deeply. This poem is both a celebration and a gentle lament, and it really stayed with me. Thank you for sharing this glimpse of boyhood wonder. Your boys have a great Mom. 😍🥰❤️💛
Time moving quickly: The ache of motherhood. ❤️