Poems by Jonna

There is a particular kind of waiting that comes with parenthood.
Not the restless kind — but the steady one.
The kind where time slows, and you notice your own body in relation to someone else’s becoming.

I wrote this poem while waiting to pick my daughter up from gymnastics class. She was inside, practicing flight. I was outside, practicing stillness.

It struck me how love shifts shape over time. How it becomes less about movement and more about presence. Less about keeping up — more about staying close. The challenge of learning to let go while also holding on just the right amount.

Here is the poem.

Killing Time

I’m killing time
while she floats through the air,
turning somersaults and vaults,
landing on her feet.

My coffee has cooled.
She closes her eyes,
sees the perfect jump
play out.

Arms stretch wide,
a pause before the run—
she dives headfirst,
legs stretched out.

I pull my coat tighter,
grounded by the years.
Cold rises from the floor
where I sit.
I count the minutes
on the wall clock.

Waiting
until the door opens
and I stand—
ready to take her
under my arm.

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Watching her move so freely, I became aware of my own stillness — and how natural that felt. Not as loss, but as transition.

Maybe this is one of the quieter truths of love: Sometimes it means letting someone fly. You’re there to gather them when they land.

Related post: For my daughter

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