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Samantha’s Daily Poem

August 20, 2014

Your tongue

There is a quiet mechanicalness to it
not hungry
or sensual
but rather a plodding thing
emerging out of your serious face
every few seconds
to press itself against the wall
the radiator
your brother’s leg

and none of it appears
to delight or repel you

like a good scientist
you note your findings
and carry on.

August 19, 2014

A peculiar way of drowning

On the water taxi
you agree to keep your life jacket on
not in case we capsize
but in case we get swallowed
by a whale.

June 10, 2014

A sinking thing

I race home to pick you up
and I don’t have time
to heat my soup
but I eat it anyways
which is standard for mothers
but I do remember your Snow White drawing
and throw in some felts
so that counts for something

and then I carry
your water bottle and lunchbox
which I forget is a crime
because you like to carry them yourself

and even when I put them back
so that you can carry them

I put them back wrong

which triggers
irreversible thrashing
so I slam the door
with a face that pretends to be calm
and the car fills fast with yelling
like a sinking thing

I fumble for grace
in that wreck of a moment
but I cannot find any
so I turn up the radio
and submerge with you
letting the storm of words
float out of me
like the last
of my air.

Posted In: Parenthood | 2 comments
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
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