2012-07-28T09:28:36-07:00July 28th, 2012|Parenthood|

His bedroom window

He had just seen Mary Poppins
and he asked his mother
but she was vacuuming
or perhaps giving one of his sisters a bath
so she nodded
the way mothers do
as they leap from one minute
to the next
time rocketing forward
gathering dust and dirt and hungry bellies
but this is not a poem about mothers
it’s about the boy
who stood before her
a few minutes later
umbrella open in his soft little hand
curtains billowing at his bedroom window
as he tugged at her shirt
his voice quiet and hesitant

are you sure
it won’t hurt.

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