2014-06-10T21:19:53-07:00June 10th, 2014|Parenthood|

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.

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