toddlers
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Some days the house forgetswhat morning is. Curtains stay drawn,coffee grows cold twice,and every clockseems kind enoughnot to rush us. Goosiferfinally surrendered to sleepafter bargaining with the moonuntil half past four. Tiny gums,tiny tears,tiny fists rubbing sleepy eyesas another little toothtries to make its wayinto the world. Today, we aren’t chasing schedules. The dishes can…
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Yesterday, I could carryboth of youwithout shifting my weight. Yesterday, your fingerswrapped around minelike they werelearning the worldone heartbeat at a time. Now you runbefore I am ready,laugh before I understand,and somehowthe word babyalready feelstoo smallto hold who you’ve become. They saytime flies. They’re wrong. Time tiptoes. It stealsone first bottle,one first tooth,one first step,one…
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Three in the morning, and the house holds its breath. Two little voices rise from darkened rooms, calling into the quiet until even the moon seems too tired to listen. The coffee is cold from yesterday. The cigarette waits untouched. The poem I meant to finish is still only half a heartbeat. Motherhood doesn’t ask…
Between Bruises and Blooms 