2022-03-11T07:31:57-08:00August 26th, 2014|Parenthood|

Quiet lumps

I start off the day confident
and calm as wax.

I kiss my children,
I make up funny songs,
but I leak patience
like an old sink.

So by dinnertime,
I am tinny
in that way when words
are carefully chosen
with more teeth
than tongue.

And at the park I am a husk
of earlier intentions.

I see others like me,
quiet lumps
too tired to do any parenting
but watch.

I think of them later
when the kids are asleep
as I try to assemble the highchair,
berating it
with a rude and glorious freedom
that I normally keep locked up
in my throat.

I think of them
and wonder
if they will go into their children’s rooms
like I will
late at night
and whisper into their hair

will be great.

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