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Samantha’s Daily Poem

June 8, 2014

When you flush

I can hear that you’re awake
and when I enter your room
you have your stuffed animals lined up
and you’re teaching them
about the sewer system

I put your sister down
and watch her rubbery arms
jab at the carpet
as she crawls
a wobbly but determined path
towards you

you tell her
she can sit
between rabbit and bear

did you know

you ask them
with a benevolent voice
that you reserve
for babies
and inanimate things

that when you flush your poo
it either gets run over
by the subway
or falls all the way down
to Mars.

Posted In: Parenthood | 2 comments
May 13, 2014

I’m not the type who thinks the moon really listens

The kids went to bed late
and I try to write a poem
about the full moon
but it reminds me of the light
they hang above you
in the dentist’s chair
which doesn’t seem
very poetic

I’m tired

I say to no one
except maybe the moon
and I’m not the type
who thinks the moon
really listens

but I looked up
at her big open mouth
as the thought
landed in my skull
and I can only say
it didn’t feel like my own

to decide instead
to be grateful.

Posted In: Creativity | no comments
May 12, 2014

Paper crowns

Your teacher is a calm vessel
of hugs and crafts

the kind that when you ask her
every morning

can you help me make a crown

she smiles a real smile
and tells you that sounds
like a fun plan

so even though our house
is now littered with them
like the aftermath
of some royal bender

I can’t bring myself to recycle them
I even tried one on this morning
while I ate my cereal
and I understood it then
the ritual of them
as I sat a little taller
feeling unreasonably good.

Posted In: Parenthood | no comments
May 11, 2014

Becoming a mother

Having a baby is a choice
but becoming a mother
is something that happens to you

a gradual multiplication of you
a nurse
a teacher
a cop

and then that crazy one

you can’t imagine it
but you would run in
love in your throat
no burning building
could stop you.

Posted In: Parenthood | no comments
May 10, 2014

The calculator in the cutlery drawer

I put my slippers on
and find a family of plastic people
living inside them
like refugees smuggled
by ship

our house is stuffed
with these kinds
of surprises

the necklace I thought I lost
poking like a snake’s head
out of my filing cabinet

the calculator
in the cutlery drawer
and all of our spoons
in the bookshelf

the village you built this morning while I slept
tents made with the baby’s diapers
post-it notes for a yellow brick road

all of it so careful
I can picture your face
as you assemble these nests
serious and lost
in the tiny world
you are sewing inside of our own

I am going to make
an extra set of keys today
a gift to all of us
for some future day
when I will ask you

did you do something with mama’s keys

and you really won’t remember
only some vague notion
that they weren’t keys at all
but dinosaur bones
or a volcano
some critical piece
of a story
that soared and now
is gone.

Posted In: Parenthood | one comment
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