2020-08-26T12:19:42-07:00October 26th, 2015|Parenthood|

When I follow

It’s too early to be up
but just late enough
that he won’t fall back asleep.

I lay on the floor
in the hallway
outside the bathroom
trying to make a few stray socks
into a pillow.

He is having a poo
and I must be here
in the hallway,

yet another odd demand
my children make
that I obey.

Like how my daughter
will only bathe
if I join her in the bath
and let her build Lego
on my knees.

Or how my son
wouldn’t let me leave his day care
until I sang “Let It Go”
for his teacher.

And just when I wish
I could reclaim
some dignity
some right of refusal

a moment like the moon happens
bobbing across the night
big and bright
like a buoy
on a black sea.

My daughter
gasps and presses
her cheek into mine.

The moon is her favourite thing
and I know my job
is to stay here
as long as it takes,
cheek to cheek
getting quieter
as we whisper
all our thoughts
about moons
until our thoughts stop
their rattling

and in the silence
I am grateful
for all the miracles I see
when I follow.

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