My child is leaving me

It is a slow departure

Years in length, really.

And people will say to me

“It starts on the day they are born.”

It's not true. They tell me that to assuage their own pain.

I can’t say to you with certitude the day she started to go.

I only know that I sit here at this moment

Feeling nothing

Not even sadness

An amnesiac waking up

And wonders where the last 17 years have gone

Wonders what was done

Accomplished

And rising from bed

Goes outside

Light blinding

Vaguely remembers how to get to the bus stop

And hopes she still has change.