Beware the Shift

Beware the shift

That comes ever so slightly.

You may not even notice,

If you aren't paying attention.

It comes slowly, gradually,

Like sunrise, or better yet,

Sunset - the shift.

No quaking earth or howling wind

Or trumpet blast -

Just a nod, a glance

In a restaurant or a store.

The salesclerk speaks to her first, not you.

The waiter takes her order first,

As if she's the one in charge of things.

Once, you used to stride in,

With her in tow.

Now she walks ahead

And you quicken your pace to keep up.

Men and boys would look you up and down,

Pat her on the head.

Now their eyes are on her

As you fade into the background.

And not that you begrudge her

Their admiring stares.

After all, you take pride

In the beauty she's become.

You just aren't ready to be

Invisible, insignificant.

And you wonder -

Did your mother feel the shift?

The almost imperceptible shift

When you came into your own,

When your prime overshadowed hers,

When your youthful steps

Overtook her careful gait?

It is the natural order of things.

Morning, noon, late afternoon, evening...

Still, the dethroning has a feel of it's own,

When your part in the play changes.

No longer the star, now

Just a character actor,

Relegated to cameos,

Minor to the plot,

Supporting cast,

Watching from the wings

As the ingenue performs,

Her own heir apparent

Watching too, waiting for her turn,

When granddaughter overtakes

daughter.

Will she feel the shift?

It comes ever so slightly.

She may not even notice it,

If she isn't paying attention.