Thresholds
I teeter on the brink of maturity,
Filled with doubt and determination.
The threshold has loomed ahead for years.
I must cross it now or forever be a child.
Whoever says that the threshold doesn't arrive
Until I'm eighteen, I don't believe.
They don't realize that maturity is not
The child of age.
And those who say it is
Probably never crossed the threshold themselves.
Someday, maybe, they'll learn.
I know I do, almost every day.
And then just when I'm sure
That I've learned all there is to know,
Something comes along that I thought I'd learned
A long time ago.
And there is always more to learn,
More comings of age,
As I near more thresholds I can't begin to see.
Winter '97/Spring '98