I told you last night, curled up in your bed, what you taught me, what you keep teaching me. I told you it was more of a remembering. Something I knew when I was little, but forgot and your existence made it unavoidable.
To Touch the Ocean
I sit with old mothers, watching the tide They curl fatherless children in their hips And watch the blurred horizon for ships Which left too long ago to remember Or for monsters or an angry wind They call their kids back from the dark They run from the lines of white foam And they scream while they laugh Grab fistfuls of sand to hurl like “take that!” To a void they can’t comprehend Wild and loud and enjoyable When it is chasing toes on the shore Not primordial chaos, well maybe just. The threat of a sea of no names Is far from their minds while they play But near…
Great Moms Know They are the Luckiest
I am the luckiest... and kind of the worst.
I guess I thought I was better than this. I thought that at some point some magical switch would flick on – maybe sometime in the pregnancy? Or during labor? I thought at some point there’d be a click (maybe even audible) and I would be Mom. I would unleash the patience and empathy and wisdom and creativity locked somewhere deep inside me just waiting for that magic thing to happen. I remember my first baby growing, feeling her kicks, dreaming of her before I even knew her gender. I remember *feeling* the magic. I read books and decorated her nursery and told her all about the world she would…