"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}

Wednesday, January 23, 2013


To become a mother 
is to become a dreamcatcher.

source: Pinterest

{I catch}

the moment your face
breaks with surprise
that we're spending the day at Disney World.

the laughter that explodes
from your top bunk
when you're supposed to be sleeping.

the sun pooling on your bedhead
as you emerge drowsy from sleep
to take in Puerto Rico.

the joy in your upturned face
as confetti rains softly down
and sticks to your smile

your backs
pressed up against
the age of the earth

as you take in
the size of your body
against the expanse of the world.

As your mother,
I am the catcher of memories, joys, and
dreams of childhood.

Responsible to weave these droplets,
these multitude of moments into a web
so when the wind blows, threatening to scatter -

the web will hold taunt and strong,
even when you falter.
when the world seems too raw, or the obstacle too great.

I'll point to the collection of your life experiences
and whisper -
"no child.  See here?  You carry all of this inside you."

I am responsible for linking the ordinary days with the extraordinary,
threading the beads of a lifetime
to drape across your necks.

to put your toes in far off oceans.
to open your eyes to all the places yet to discover.

to hold you closely
as the day draws its shade
putting your ears to my chest so you may hear the rhythm of my heart -

that which nurtured you,
and sang to you your first lullaby
whilst you were still in my depths, in the warm waters of creation.

I dedicate myself to man the loom of your beautiful tapestry of life experience and unwavering worth.

I will let this dreamcatcher
dance in the light breeze upon a tree branch,
let it dazzle in the sun

so that you may peer into the web
we are building together
and see your reflection shine.

source: Pinterest

... Won't you join us over at Emily's today where the inspiration for this week's Imperfect Prose is: