The quiet buzzing of chatter recedes, Leaving only the creaking of risers and the rustling of small children, Unable to sit still. The acoustics cause an echo Of every sniffle and cough Or adjustment of legs. Perched lightly on flimsy plastic chair Leaning forward, my eyes lock in quickly On my sons eagerly bouncing form Emulating nervous energy. If I am a compass, he is north, Always drawn to where he is. My surroundings are second, though permeating, With overwhelming scents like a rolling fog Of perfume and aftershave, Dry muffins and dull coffee, Dubious eggs and sausages Invade the stagnant air Of an elementary cafeteria. Stifling nostalgia, Reminiscent of a time, When it was my mother in the crowd And I sat on the stage. Other adults fidget, phones in hand Ready to capture their children In a small moment When they sing their hearts out To impress and captivate An ever willing crowd. My son still hasn’t found me. His eyes wander while I barely blink, A green gaze darting around the large room, Nearly frantic in his search, Skipping over my attuned focus Unable to spot me in the thick crowd When I could see him in orbit As if he is the earth And I, his moon. However, I am just his mom. And he is only seven. The principal begins her prattling Thanking the parents As couples turn to each other, Love in their eyes Their child a crowning achievement, Their hands interlocked. My sight never wavers, Knowing he must see me before they start, So he knows his mom is here. I can feel his excitement stale As his search remains futile, His confidence waning His body caving inward As he continues to skip over The third row fourth chair, As if a bubble surrounds me Erasing me from his sight. My heart fractures at his sadness With the knowledge that If he could just see me, All would be well in his world. But then! Finally! It is not dramatic to say His eyes lit up entirely His shoulders peel back His neck straightens and his smile strains across his small face, For he has found his mom. My smile matches his, warm and loving. His happiness is palpable Maybe to no one else But searing to my soul, To know that my presence Can cause him to feel loved. I am here, I am here, I am here I support you, I love you, I see you I know you, I am proud of you. His joy is mine, And in that moment, While our eyes meet With mirroring smiles We are both filled with it.