Tag Archives: love

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.

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Faith

“Love set you going like a fat gold watch.”
Morning Song, Sylvia Plath

But it would be weeks until I saw the
Black and white flicker of your real, live
Heart, its muffled whoosh, whoosh, whoosh

While your father stood dumbstruck by
My navel. We held the first, glossy evidence
Of you in our hands. We turned it over like an

Old photograph then plastered it on the fridge.
I giggled each time I reached for the milk, his
Working hands holding me, holding you.

I framed your progress all over the living room,
I showed you off to friends. My grandfather smiled his
Big, proud smile and tried his best to meet you.

I think he held you before I did. I’d barely imagined you
Before you became a beautiful, squawking thing,
A helpless masterpiece. You speak in foreign tongues

I struggle to understand. I dream you’re speaking to him.
At night your moon face makes me believe in something
I never did. I press one hand to your cheek, the other to your father’s.

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And Don’t Forget to Love Unconditionally

my grandfather came to me yesterday
he was hiding in between the beats
of my son’s sweet cries

hello, hello, hello

quit counting breaths
quit weighing the strength of
his grip on your fingers

I am taking care of things.

I was a child once,
he says.

I am a child now, I think.

my son looks up and smiles at nothingness,
his hollow mouth is valley wide

I imagine my grandfather
whispering firm instructions:

be happy
be healthy
go easy on your mother

I kiss the sky and whisper back
hello, hello, hello

I miss you so.

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Observations

babybreastfeeding

When you are most still is when I see you best.

There are blood vessels in your eyelids that are
shaped like diamonds and the slope of your nose
is something all its own (I’ve shook my head in front
of the bathroom mirror enough times to know it isn’t mine).

I listen closely to your resting breath and
it hums softly and consistently as summer evenings;
occasionally it shifts and for a moment is the
whooshing of an ocean wave.

I place a hand to the curve of your back
and wish for more time – always, more time.
The thick, pink flesh above your elbows
is my contribution to this world.

I can’t fit any more life in me,
I’m so full of love for you.

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Rosemary

what if she disappeared
quick and clean as a rainstorm

would you still love her when
she is little more than earth?

perfume stale on a necktie
rosemary and basil fat in the kitchen

these things aren’t tangible
like her hands on your mouth

wheeling through the seasons
with the windows rolled up
isn’t really living, she told you

four arms, four legs
two hearts, one home
these are the roots of us

waste the days on fleeting laughter
on the way she looks at the end of the night

put on your best suit and
go puddle jumping

it won’t matter like
the way she smiles in the rain

if she wants snow in July
disembowel the Egyptian cotton pillowcases

tear down the silk curtains and
she’s queen for a day

bask in the way she ties a
perfect knot around the
neck you kiss when you’re sorry

the way she glides across the
living room and calls on the help

because when she’s gone
when she’s really, truly a memory

you won’t ache for things,
for money well spent, for her rosemary

instead you’ll keep her best in the
all of the jeweled spontaneity

in the way her body felt
so light in its blissful carelessness

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When We Are Here

daddyandson

Somewhere, ages ago now
I was setting sail on bones and ash,
catching the wind with an old t-shirt,
watching you and everything I knew
turn doll-size in the distance.

Miles had spread at a viral rate
by the time I went overboard and you

you

were already there to buoy me back to shore,
to refill my chest with all the reasons there were to stay
and when I opened my eyes all I noticed was the
brilliant orange of the sun as it left us.

So I’ve been using all your edges to keep me upright
but you’ve never seemed to mind (you’re too busy
seeing me in some post-apocalyptic calm, something
I cannot), you who chooses over and over to
stand out in the rain with me.

It’s all so surreal now, way back behind us,
and it feels like someone else’s temporary sorrow
when we are here, cradling the shiny newness of a
living, breathing thing that has your mouth, my chin, your nose.

It is almost impossible to think how simple
a decision it was, to look into your eyes, nod, press my mouth,
my body to yours and suddenly we were changed.

I think I’ll spend forever thanking you.

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Mothers

you are little more than
silk against my breast,
eyes closed with gentle
willingness while I am
frantically carving every one
of your miniscule movements
in a place where I can pit them
against my own lack of comfort –

these early suns and moons
are all those ones we should
remember like dreams, if
only I could stop trying to
decode the twitching of your
eyelids, counting your lashes,
listening for your ocean breath
through a misshapen shell –

you are content despite
your mother’s beautiful
weariness, her eyes that
are glass no matter your state
and I have been told that I
will still sneak to you at night,
when you are much larger than
I am, if only to steal a little peace.

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something beyond the smoke

 

I open my mouth and

all that crawls out is love

in a way I’ve never seen it

before, thin as silk but

lassoing mountains nonetheless.

 

If I never believed in

something beyond the smoke

I did when you were filling

in the dip in my chest that

was meant only for you –

 

my heart left my body

on the same day

he was born,

your great grandfather –

 

and I swear your hands

were warm from holding his.

 

***

Thank you to everyone who sent well wishes and congratulations our way. Mommy, Daddy and baby are all home and doing wonderfully. Our beautiful little boy entered this world right on time, May 26th, 10 PM. I have no doubt his great grandfather had a hand in it all. We couldn’t be happier – it’s hard to look at my son and not have my eyes well up. We are being careful to enjoy even the tiniest of moments within our new family of three. The photo above is from a very special newborn shoot with ShayLeigh Photography. Isn’t he the handsomest?

P.S.

If you’d like to help us win a free 5X7 from the photoshoot, just click on that link above and it will bring you to the photographer’s Facebook page; simply scroll down and “like” that same photo of our son, and also “like” the photographer’s page to help us win.

Peace and love to all. I’m so full of both at the moment. xo

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paper fires

you string me up

like paper flowers

 

you –

 

sandpaper fingers,

your hard work makes territory

of my skin and still I turn my mouth

upwards in slow motion.

 

I read my future

by the soft light of you.

 

recognition pours from your bones

and uncurls me like paper fires in reverse;

I’d spent years digging through the ashes of my

childhood only to find my voice in your chest

 

that splintered, vulnerable thing

that lets me thank you every morning

when we are nothing more than a

confusion of limbs and braille lips

 

barely ever necessities we are,

but I won’t bother with words when

I can read you with my eyes closed.

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Daydreams

No May will be the same, perched with
legs barely pretzeled against round earth belly;
I am waiting for your glorious arrival, curtained in sweat
and sighs of relief and tears like spring showers growing life.

But there is something else there too, wondering
if grief and blinding love could link arms for an
evening on the edge of my hospital bed.

I wonder if you’ll arrive on the day he
was born, wrapped in some form of him.
I wonder if I’ll know it (in the shape of your eyes)
in the way your small mouth might curve unknowingly
like it is full of all his stories, like it is screaming I’m near.

Maybe he’ll take every strength he wished
he’d had and place it in your hands and feet,
maybe when I hold you I’ll be holding him too.

At night I rest my head on quiet thoughts
of him here, just as flesh and blood as you
are flesh and blood, just as warm, and in
delicate pockets of time he is asking to be
the one to sing you to sleep.

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