Samantha’s Daily Poem
The limitations of language
We are walking a long while
before you ask me
how far away is Gabby
she is somewhere on this small island
so I tell you she’s not far
and another long while passes
before you ask me
is she as far away as Christmas
at which point I realize
not enough language has been invented
to dress up my love for you
so I keep your hand in mine
and we walk on.
Things mothers can sleep through
A family of Playmobil people
trekking across my face
and they just went back
to get their boat
which is now parked
on my neck
the wriggling warm body
on top of me
like a thirty-pound seatbelt
his stomach pushing into mine
which I understand to mean
only after it is done
that he is pooing
a high-pitched shrieking
version of Twinkle Twinkle
that invades my head
and becomes a dream
about a plane crash
and this morning
when the heavy hum of sleep
is pierced by shards of light
I bury my face like a wretched bug
which must have inspired pity
in my son’s wide-awake heart
because he closes the curtain
and lets me tunnel my way
back into the fog
while he pets my cheek
like I am a newborn cat
and whispers
good mama
good mama.
How to let them go
If only our loved ones
were like movies
that we let invade us
making our senses dance
and then when they were over
returned to earth or sky
or to some other face
we let the curtain close
with the wonderfully wrung-out feeling
of having experienced
an amazing story
that of course
had to end.
The coup
This body has been taken over
by a lower back
a citizen turned despot
suddenly nobody can move
without his permission
even the elbows
are at his mercy
and when they forget
when they fling
like they did when they were free
he sends his army of knives
and so it is up to them
to decide if he can be converted
or overthrown
will they march
or will they rust
he has taken over
the centre of this body
like any good coup
but he is outnumbered
and I just got word
they will retaliate
in the way he will never expect
they will love him
until he surrenders
their breath.
Little scars
I sing my little sunshine to you
only instead of the sunshine
I sing about you
and how you make me happy
when skies are grey
but when I get to the part
about please don’t take you away
you start to cry
in that way that unstitches
my insides
because you have found
a new pothole of grief
in your little life
and I dug it
so I try to change the words
but you plead inside the smear of your face
for the same song
the really really song
and only when I startle you
with my old trick
of asking you
did you hear that plane
that didn’t really exist
do you quiet down
until you fall asleep
curled up inside my limbs
as if you were still growing
out of my flesh
and I don’t move for a long time
until a plane eventually does pass overhead
full of strangers
all of them carrying their own baggage
of little scars.
