Tag Archives: son

I think he’d even ask for you

my sweet, small son with

so much light in his eyes

is busy wrapping small fingers

around everything he shouldn’t

 

and you are not here to call out that

bellowing “yo”, shake your head and

belly laugh, sip a glass of chianti

I’d  snuck next to your plate.

 

I bet he’d stay on your lap just

a bit longer than anyone else’s.

 

I bet you’d have some way of

taming this small beast that

would leave us all wondering, how.

 

I think he’d even ask for you

when his tongue starts forming words.

 

I still think he’ll know to,

somehow, even with you gone –

grandpa, great grandpa, I love you. 

 

 

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Dear Beautiful Boy,

mamaandbubba

 

I swear I dreamed you up and

That you are really made of starlight.

When you sleep I reach out and connect our

Constellations, just to be sure there are no kinks.

 

I measure the sharpness of your face and

Wonder if you will be the opposite of me:

A force, a light that others are drawn to like

I am drawn to you. Will you believe in God?

You can believe in anything you want to.

 

My love for you will never be measured

By your accomplishments.

 

I am your Mama, Beautiful boy,

long hair or short, ink on your skin,

a painted face, a red dress, on sunny days

and in a rainstorm.

 

Show me your teeth and your fists

And I promise, I’m your Mama then, too,

Still checking our connections.

 

There is no conditional love here.

 

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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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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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I’m Going to Be a Mommy!

maternityshoot

As you are reading this, my husband and I are hopefully somewhere holding our baby boy. (That’s assuming this kid doesn’t decide to make a late appearance!) Either way, today, the 26th of May, is my official due date. The day our entire world is destined to change in the most beautiful way. But today represents something else as well: it is my sweet, funny, fiercely missed grandfather’s birthday, and we have all been keeping fingers and toes crossed that he’s told my son how cool it would be to share a birthday with his great grandpa.

I’ve scheduled this post ahead of time to let everyone know that while I may be disappearing for a bit, I won’t be gone permanently. I’ll just be taking some time to learn how to care for a very tiny human being and soaking up every precious moment as a new mother. So, thank you so much to those of you who have been following my blog; I am grateful for every single like, comment, and share. I’ll be back soon to read more of your beautiful work, and will likely be bursting at the seams with poems about my son and every small new thing I’ll be in awe of.

Until then, be well, my friends.

xoxo,

Nicole Marie

P.S.

If you’re coming across my page for the first time, thank you for visiting! While I’m away, here are some pieces I hope you might enjoy:

a poet to her son

My Grandfather Who Lingers Still

This is How You Grieve Him

Daydreams

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who I am and who I will be

I am having trouble
imagining you outside of
my imagination
outside of my own skin,
you are still so much a part of me
that there is no explanation
for the waves that move
without routine between my bones

your eyes are still all
clouds and smoke –
I dream of your mouth
like cinnamon
that will bow,
that will open
and call out for me

this foreign, self-defining thing
I’ve put up on the mantel
and dusted like some
undeserving prize is
something too surreal to
take down, to examine too
closely for detail, I am
so afraid it will slip smoothly
between my fingertips

for now you are still
the loveliest figment
nestled between who
I am and who I will be,
this small thing, this
awkward fleeting girl
with the readjusting
heart for you, my son.

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a poet to her son

the holy thrumming of the fan

in our bedroom is chanting your

lullaby in protective undertones.

 

I am cozy, staring into the poised

bassinet that will hold you just less

than cocooned to me in ten short weeks.

I practice knowing the smell of you,

I stay up later than I’m barely able just

to shake hands with the exhaustion

we’ll happily lend a room to.

 

and you – you are practicing self defense

beneath my flesh; to you, the only world there is.

I could make tiny wishes that you’d some day

tell me what my heartbeat sounds like from the inside:

glass-smooth jazz, a jagged pop beat?

 

I like to imagine my writer’s heart

beats like the honey of a romance novel,

appreciating with intensity every soft thump of life.

 

I question that you’ll read my work

(hold it high as Hamlet held Yorick’s skull)

hold it up to the light and memorize every vein,

test it for disease – or else wave it away as novelty.

at least do me this favor, son: read every word.

chance it. swallow it down and throw it up if you must.

this is your story, the most important I’ll ever write.

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