From the Sidelines
I hold my breath the way I did
the day you learned to walk
knees bending, arms out,
trusting the air to catch you.
The arena smells like hairspray and nerves.
Sequins scatter the lights into stars
that land on your shoulders.
You bounce on the balls of your feet,
a heartbeat in a bow.
When the music hits,
you become louder than fear.
Your smile is practiced, yes,
but the pride is real,
muscle memory stitched with courage.
Around me, other mothers shout.
I stay quiet.
My cheering lives in my chest,
a drum I’ve been carrying since the first time
I let go.
You fly. You land.
The mat holds.
So do I.
hands clenched, eyes burning,
loving you in a language
only distance can teach.
When it’s over,
you scan the crowd.
I wave like always,
hoping you see not the worry,
but the belief
lifting you higher than the lift ever could.