Tag: Poetry

I have finally figured out why I don’t like you. Really. I’ve also realized why you don’t like me. I’ve even figured out why stay-at-home moms can’t abide moms with jobs, why hippie moms don’t dig organized moms, why tofu moms can’t stomach Cheetos moms, and why mommy wars exist at all when we should all be cheering, “You made a little person, too!? You’re trying to help it grow up to be a nice big person, too!? Wow! I am so proud of you. Can I get a hug, Sista?”

I don’t like you because I HAVE to get this right…and that means I can’t be wrong. I am investing everything I can scrounge together into mothering these little people. It is the most important thing in the world to me. I am usually worn out, frequently guilt-prone, and abnormally anxious as I do this mother gig. I can’t handle the idea that I might be doing it wrong because I love my littles so much. So when you mother differently than me, a dark worm crawls through my brain saying, “What if she is right? If you are wrong, your children will become thugs.” Because I can’t do it wrong and still hang on to the few marbles I have, it is far easier for me to stick out a mental tongue at you and call you a bad mom. Then I am still the good mom and my kids will stay out of the penitentiary. Whew. That. Was. Close. Read more →

I see you from the window
As I do dishes
Again-
Sunshine soaking your hair
Mud soaking your dress-
As you pet the cat and eat garden peas.
Crack
Peel
Chew
Pet
Again and again
For an hour or more.

You know your letters
And how to write your name.
You know what to do if someone tries
To take your lunch
Or pull you from a swing.
We’ve practiced all this.
But bells will soon ring
And lines will form.
You will try to find your place
When kids laugh and cut
In front
Before the teacher sees.

So stay outside, love.
Soak up another hour of light
And garden
And mud.
Cross-contaminate your little hands
With peas and cat hair.
The sanitizer dispenser
Will be posted
By your classroom door
Next week.
One week before Kindergarten.
So soon.
Too soon.

Something in the dancing

Brings me home again-

A prodigal come to myself,

Too long gone among the corn cobs.

Silent Night

Bedtime songs on Christmas Eve,
I hardly see him in the light-
My little boy who fell asleep
As I was singing “Silent Night.”
My thoughts go to another place,
Another night, another bed,
Another boy whose mother watched
As He laid down His little head.
He soon would know His Father’s voice
And He would feel the angel’s hands.
But as a boy, I think it was
His mother’s voice He’d understand.
I can see them by a fire,
Reading scripture, learning prayer.
As He grew in grace and truth,
I imagine Mary there.
Spirit-led, she taught her son
With faith so bright and words so mild.
He learned his mission at her knee,
As she nurtured God’s own child.
I still forget my little one
Has also walked on clouds above.
And, trailing glory, looks to me
To show him all his Father’s love.
God could thunder through the skies
And send His angels flying near
To spread His word in strength and power…
But that’s why He sent mothers here.
Like that mother long ago,
I’ll teach you truth and show the right.
So sleep my child in Heavenly peace
And know you’re loved this Silent Night.