The Philosopher

He wakes and his Cupid’s mouth

Is thrumming at my breast.


I lift him high with tired arms

And he thinks I shaped the sky


With these two hands. In simple

Motions I am a life source, in


Quiet rooms by lamplight I teach

Him what words are. I used to think


I had not done enough, was not full

Enough of something until my own son


Searched my face like starlight. In twelve

Hours I became a philosopher in a hospital gown.



Filed under Writing

2 responses to “The Philosopher

  1. I read this the other day and it has been on my mind ever since. I love the mama’s heart I see in your words. I knew that I would.
    (side note: I could feel the ‘let down’ when I read your words. Made me yearn for those days. Sorry if that’s TMI!)

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