"We're all just walking each other home." - - Ram Dass

Monday, January 28, 2013

Half Light of Morning

we sit side by side
sharing the blue blanket
in the half light of morning.

we've snuck downstairs
careful not to wake
the sleeping house

and for a moment
we just stare at each other,
no longer accustomed to this uninterrupted two-ness.

mother and first born.

you, who first filled my womb,
first stirred the quickening,
broke open the skies for me.

i see a faint bruise
on your elbow
that i don't know the origin of.

gone are the days of examining
every inch of your skin
for signs of undetected disease,

or the other ways
i was sure, being new to this,
i would fail you.

your legs now spindle
down next to mine
and i see the future

whispering not so far ahead
when they will surpass my own,
and you seem in no hurry to stop.

the way your brow furls deep lines:

with concentration as you drew
nourishment from my breast

with concentration as you solve
math problems and complete worksheets.

how it became my habit
to take my thumb and smooth them calm...
you do this on your own now.

then and now,

when you sleep,
your lashes spread out
black lace across a porcelain white cheek.

as we sit, i can see that already
there is a part of you that
remains under the blanket just to appease me.

your mind onto
the next level of your video game,
and the ropes course in gym.

you handle my heart carefully
knowing intrinsically
that if you grew up all at once, it would break me.

so you start small,
retreating in steps
only a mama would detect.

you stretch your boundaries
but never forget to look back
to flash me a reassuring smile.

in the half light of morning,

i'm learning you anew
taking slow, deep breaths of your spirit
that i can forgot to do in the daily grind of life.

expanding my heart
to allow you room to grow
into the man that you will become.

you examine my face,
lean close and whisper
"I have your eyes"

the rising sun
hitting our shared hazel streaks
and making our deep irises glisten.

and in the half light of morning,

all at once
i feel it...

you're learning me anew, too.

{Linking with Jen, Heather and Emily where the prompt for this week is: LIGHT}


  1. that photo of him is so sweet. And your words could be mine. I love my little man who is now taller than me. eek. you will be so thankful you are writing it out now Tara. so thankful. they grow up so very fast.

  2. Beautiful. That is all. xo, my friend!

  3. yes. that half light of morning lends itself to such reflections, doesn't it? i love how you cherish the moments, Tara. how not one seems to slip by unnoticed.
    you teach me much about loving well. thank you.

  4. Beautiful . . . this caught me:
    'expanding my heart
    to allow you room to grow'
    because we need to, but it's hard
    thank you

  5. This brought tears. It really struck me hard because I have a 5 month old and my 3 year old is making so many leaps and bounds in developments towards independence. I see photos of him right before my 2nd was born and I see so much has changed in just 5 months. His face is sharper. More mature. The baby is leaving his features. I read this and I feel so many things. Guilt, sadness, pride, blessedness. But it moves me because when I read about you not knowing where the bruise came from - I think - when did I last really see my first born. Really pay attention. Really listen. Really look. Even feel. I get so numb sometimes because of sleep deprivation from a super nursing and night waking 2nd born. A baby who needs and deserves as much undivided attention that my first born received. But this time ...this window of time - it's all I have for my first born too. And it's slipping and I'm missing out of it. And there has to be a way to appreciate him more. A way to balance.
    You captured a moment when you look at him and you feel it all. All that is behind, before, and ahead for you with him. So beautifully, so touching. Thank you for posting.

  6. I love this and am about to share on twitter under #sdg. you know, this morning, my oldest and I had some hard interactions. really hard. And then, when she came home, it's like she knew, too, that they had been hard, and decided to be different, just as I decided to be different. It's the growing up together, in some ways, the oldest and her mother.

  7. This is so beautiful, Tara, the way you have slowed; the way you are seeing. Yes, it nearly broke me wide open when mine grew up and grew away, little-by-little.

  8. So beautiful: the child (He looks a lot like one of my childhood BFFs!) and your words of him. I hope you're planning to link this at IP on Wed. I'm writing about my son, too. Love you, Girl. You're a real, radiant somebody.

  9. This is so, so beautiful. You captured it so perfectly.

  10. Speechless. Tearful. Gah. You've done it again. <3

  11. What a beautiful write, and the poetic ..sigh...I find especially lovely. They amaze, they astound, these children of ours. Watching them grow is a holy experience. You say it well and with that beautiful mother's heart. Thank you for sharing from your deepest places.

  12. this makes me ache for the little boy in my now grown sons:)
    i remember that beautiful season so well
    and whisper to you one word: "cherish"
    cherish these moments and hours,
    cherish the young heart so open and tender.
    (i cherish this stirring post, friend:))
    thank you,

  13. Oh so beautiful and true. I remember well realizing there bumps and bruises on my children, and I had no idea where they had come from. Later it was bumps and bruises on their hearts that I couldn't fully know and understand. There is a deep craving in all of us mama's to "know" our children and be known by them indelibly. Thank you for these beautiful words.

  14. "If you grew up all at once, it would break me".

    I'm living these words because some days it feels as if they do.

  15. Gorgeous. I see the eyelashes. So vivid, my friend, and you speak to the way I feel as a mama.

  16. Gorgeous and you are so right, we were putting words to those same feelings. You did it so beautifully, as always.

  17. Amazing--just stunning, Tara. Thank you.

  18. This brings back so many conversations I've had with my sister-in-law as my nephew goes from toddler to preschooler to plain-old boy. You capture it well! My favourite line: black lace across a porcelain white cheek. :)

  19. oh my wow. this is beautiful. my oldest boy is only 3 but i see the same things in him so often... he knows i love to snuggle and allows it despite his runner's nature. how gorgeous these words you've penned. i resonate.

  20. You describe this mother-son one growing to independence one learning to let go - you describe it beautifully. Yes - if they pulled away too soon, it would break us:)

  21. Oh so beautiful. Your words and your moments together, just the two of you. All of it.

  22. I love

    you, who first filled my womb/ ...broke open the skies for me

    -- that's a beautiful turn of phrase.

  23. I know this new "knowing" of one another. I see the way my own sons look at me with eyes that aren't full of baby blue innocence, that they see me as a flawed woman. And that they love me possibly more because of those flaws. How that fills a mother's heart to bursting. This piece of writing took me straight to the core of that knowledge. You gave words to a feeling. Took my breath away here Tara.

  24. It's a great time to be alive, that half light of the morning, so many people miss it...