Cheering From the Bleachers

I'm here in the stands.
Sitting, uncomfortably.
While the relief I seek
would come
if I stood up
and
stretched my "mother muscles",
the player in my line of sight
is not in search of
coaching right now.

So I sit
with the whole playing field
in sight--
and I watch
my little player
with great interest.

Fighting the urge
to warn of the approaching
dangers
that our untamed habits
cause us to suffer.
Stifling the voice in the watchtower
that cautions:
"O be wise my child. Be wise."

No, I am an eternal cheerleader--
GO!
FIGHT!
WIN!
I am not on the field,
the game is not mine to win,
though I have high stakes
in the outcome
it's not my battle.
My voice is on the sidelines
on the cold hard bleachers--
I've had my turn to play this game.
I made my own mistakes
and counted the consequences
as a failure or success.

I've sat here before,
uncomfortable in my seat,
waiting to be asked for my
best advice.
Waiting is the hardest thing
when time is in the mix,
don't you think?

I want to take the player
by the hand
and lead her to the goal--
not stop and ask what she thinks
or how she feels about it--
just take her to the goal line
and cement her in it.

I know I'd certainly sleep better
if her feet were firmly cemented
into the goal line.
Dang it tho,
Free Agency
has its own price
and it ain't
Free
at all.

So here I sit in the bleachers,
cheering
"Go! Fight! Win!"
and hoping the player
hears my voice
above all the noise
in the whole stadium.