I let go when I walked into the cornfield and could not see the safety of my playhouse.
I let go, holding back tears, behind that big desk of first grade.
I let go of home on a long cold rainy journey down the Penna. Turnpike.
I let go with Valium, but somehow the tube in my stomach pulled me back.
I let go of my first born in a dorm room high over the Charles River.
I let go of my dad to the click of rifles and taps echoing through the hills.
I let go of my mate when our paths crossed and all we felt was hurt.
I let go of ignorance when I graduated college, but let go of arrogance when
I graduated as a nurse.

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