Photo by Sabine van Straaten on Unsplash

 

When you finally sheathe your claws
No longer the tiger defending her cubs
of each generation.
When you are content to let someone
else handle the child’s latest trauma.

When you can look at your hands
with nails that insist on breaking,
which formerly would have caused
sleepless nights,
but now you sigh briefly and dig
your hands back into the soil.

When you place your opinion
into the family discussion,
and instead of everyone hushing
to hear your words,
the cacophony rises above your
voice,
and the only result in you
is that it means you are free
to go and do something else,

can you say you are now mature?
Can you block the murmur at the
back of your mind that asks
if you’re really just growing up?