Written by Jacob Ibrag You love circles, at least that’s what you told me. You draw them without ever finishing. Open ended because, ‘what’s sadder than ending up in the same place?’ I gave you a ring and you hesitated because, ‘I don’t know if we want the same things.’ Photographer Unknown
Hi!!! ::wipes dust off of blog::
I hope everyone is well. I’ve been writing, writing, writing…but secretly. I am trying hard for a chapbook, have been lucky enough to read at TWO poetry events in the last few months, and have also had two pieces accepted by publications (both forthcoming). I am feeling very creatively blessed at the moment, and am so excited to share those poems with you when they are released.
I’m stopping in to share a piece (I was fortunate enough to have Freshly Pressed) I wrote back when I was big and happy and very pregnant. My son will be two this Friday, and I am a big ball of emotion right now. What a whirlwind it’s been since he entered our lives. I couldn’t ask for a better life. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I am proud to be his mama.
Here’s a link to that piece I wrote before I got to meet that precious boy: a poet to her son
Wishing you all well.
and I am flailing for cover
done up Easter egg bright
she can find me by barely
trying, I am just too passionate
and yet she goes.
someone else can do it
snakes always say
no time to talk about feelings.
my bones crack and
suddenly there is sky
I crane my neck
for a better look
but only the clouds roll in.
I’m still here
I’m still writing
Motherhood is all consuming (and the best thing I will ever do)
I see you all! xoxo
husband hides in kitchen
with our baby son stirring
the same pot for therapy.
sauce is sauce is still sauce
bubbling, burning at the edges
I am tangoing in our living room
in some other-world with my family,
but what does that word mean: family?
not elbows on the table passing
baskets of warm bread, butter
coffee on, television off, talk
heavy with plans for the new year
those are thoughts for daydreams.
my son drinks milk from a bottle
and I am kneading our livelihood
nearby, adding sprinkles, making shapes
only my husband sees, smiles.
clasp cold hand
over cold hand
search for the
telephone but they are
catching on all the edges
and we are
a pink sun rises and her heart
beats in rhythm with the coffee that is
drip, drip, dripping in the kitchen.
she is warm, she is unknowing
still for minutes more, one foot
dangling casually from bed to floor.
someone puts the bacon on,
fat cracking fireworks from the stove
while news drones on from the television.
did she notice the birds
in their perfect V formation
ripping across a November sky?
slip the back door open just
a bit more, the dog, burly as she is
squeezes through and runs, runs, runs.
I’d guess they don’t look down,
from way up there it’s all just
noise anyway, it’s all the same
all the same.
put on the coffee first?
pick up the metal measuring cup,
a twenty-six year old wedding gift
counting in her head:
or was the back door cracked
just enough to call her to it?
the sun was rising just as
brilliantly as it always does,
as it always is.
a toddler dizzy spinning on the
kitchen tile, yelling out to the abundance of
silence in the room, challenging with the sound of
his own excited voice he is a startling comedic relief
death is food: pies, cakes, donuts drowning
in sticky chocolate stuffed with velvet creams,
coffee sizzles nearby like a waking spouse
hoagie slices stacked in potent sculptures
death is love
family, friends, acquaintances even
hugging every wall and every worn cushion
thrown about the kitchen, living room, hallway
spilling over to the back porch, front porch
standing in doorways with hands in pockets, listening
death is a deep breath
pull it all in,
let it all out and
somewhere in the distance
a city is crumbling.
teach our sons to
open doors, to
ask for permission
our daughters to know
NO is not taboo to
roll their shoulders back
and drink in the world
my son sleeps on my husband’s
strong chest and somewhere
I am thinking only of my family
not how big your dick is
I am someone
I am wife, mother, lover
the hyenas laugh, punch each
others arms, stumble into the
bar with stars in their eyes
please do not become the
fathers to our daughters,
to our sons.