Sonya Sones, author of the Los Angeles Times best-selling novel-in-verse, THE HUNCHBACK OF NEIMAN MARCUS (HarperCollins, 2011), will post a new poem on her blog (www.sonyasones.com/wp/whats-new/) every day for the next several weeks about how a mother feels when her child heads off to college. As a public service, we will post the poems in the Dispatch. Herewith, installment six:

We’re the First to Arrive at Her Dorm

We explore the sterile, echoing rooms
of Samantha’s suite,
scouring it for aspects to admire—

the view of the courtyard,
the size of the common room,
the picturesque slant of the walls.

Then, before we’re quite ready, the other
three girls come swarming up the stairs,
their suitcases and parents in tow.

All of us greet each other, shy as deer.
But soon our daughters’ breezy banter
banishes the hush.

Then, beneath the chatter, comes the tinkling
song of summer’s last ice-cream truck,
floating in through the open window—

it’s the same melody
that used to drift from the mobile
that spun above Samantha’s crib…

Michael hears it, too.
He reaches for my hand.
And when he laces our fingers together
the lump in my throat
threatens to cut off
my breath.