Between Bruises & Blooms

The days have not been quiet.

They have been measured
in laundry folded warm from the dryer,
beds made with careful hands,
cupboards filled a little at a time,
and the small prayers
hidden inside ordinary chores.

Home has been stretching itself,
making room
for the sound of my boys
coming back where they belong.

Every blanket I straighten
whispers,
Almost.

Every shelf I dust
answers,
Soon.

But while I prepare
for one homecoming,

the twins
have declared war
on sleep.

Tiny teeth
pressing toward daylight,
rosy cheeks,
fussy tears,
little fingers
reaching for comfort
only a mother can give.

So I rock one baby,
then the other.

I kiss aching gums.

I hum songs
I’ve forgotten the names of.

Some days,
nothing on my list
gets crossed off.

Even this little corner
of the internet
has gathered dust.

The poems have waited
more patiently than I deserved,
their words lingering
like birds on a fence,
certain I would return.

Life has simply asked
for my hands
before it asked
for my pen.

Because love
keeps changing
what is most important.

The house
isn’t perfect yet.

There are still corners
waiting for my hands.

Still boxes to sort.

Still stories to tell.

Soon,
my boys will walk
through this door again.

The twins
will smile with new teeth.

I’ll make another cup of coffee,
open this blog,
and find the words
that have been waiting for me
all along.

The laughter
will be louder.

The laundry
will double.

The coffee
will grow cold.

And this house,
after everything it has survived,

will finally sound
like home.