Signing Off Poem by David McLansky

What can make my daughter cry,
She stands a stranger, bleak, dry-eyed,
Intent to get the papers signed
Making hers what once was mine;
I sit my chair in pain and stiff,
Not sure my bones will work to lift
My tired flesh up out my chair
My eyes are bitter, locked with care;
All the formal etiquette
Are spoken not to get upset,
I urge her on that she must go,
The weather station hints of snow;
At the door she turns and mumbles,
I sit my chair, forever humbled;
The thread that linked her heart to mine
Is severed now as I stare blind