Dinner

Babies Breath

Folder: 
Nature / Folder 1

On a blistery hot day,

After the wash is done,

After the floors are scrubbed,

And the beds all have fresh, clean linen,

The plants are watered,

Dinner is on the stove,

The garage has been swept and hosed down,

And cats all have clean litter boxes,

Weeds are pulled,

And diaper pails emptied,

The car has been washed,

And all garden tools neatly arranged and in their place,

You shuffle down the steps,

And hold him close,

His face against yours,

After a his long nap,

And the sweetest thing,

You have ever felt in your life,

His tiny little hand,

“Pat-a-patting” your tired shoulder,

Same way yours has done him.

The sweetest thing,

Baby’s breath,

The sweetest thing.

 

 

© 2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem speaks of one of the many moments in the joy of motherhood.

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"Hungry"

Folder: 
My Work

“Gaze into faces,
get behind eyes.
From so many places,
fed so many lies.
All satiated,
starving for more.
Emaciated,
nauseating encore.
Imbalanced, heavy scales,
bearing unjust weight,
all who would reign must fail,
policy is bait.
Only one more swallow,
deep, filthy well.
Thirst always follows,
hunger’s dinner bell.
And, so we take the mark,
clones stamped in red;
sheep left in the dark,
bones, bleached and bled.
But, still I will rage
defying gravity;
incarcerated in this cage,
I choose to be free.
For I will not surrender,
I will not kneel,
to the Great Pretenders,
serving the next meal."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Politics, anyone?

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