Monday 5:47

Tiny baby sleeps
in her white and lavender crib
I wonder what she dreams
as she rests her small head
on her soft sheets

You cried most of the lazy
winter day
Was it teething?
We wondered
Is she constipated?
We asked
as I humbly
diligently
motherly
assumed my regular tasks.

I fed you in your high chair
I wiped your little butt
after a soggy and (somewhat) pleasant diaper
you would think I’d had enough

But–
oh no, this is normal
regular
perhaps
a bit
mundane
Yet
when I hug and kiss you
my dear
I am grateful
life will
never
be
the
same–

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Sacred noise

Watching you roll around
on the floor
screaming your lungs
out
in joy–
I relish in your small
movements
I cherish all the
sacred noise–

Thank you farmers

We pick the organic apples
sweet potatoes
bags of onions
They roll around the shopping cart
with us
up and down the dusty
aisles
So in gratitude
I humbly
thank you for your bounty
and I thank you for the feast
thank you to all the farmers
who suffer and sweat
so we can
eat–

Surface

Remind me
how to
calm the mind
how to slip into
the dark abyss
forget all the troubles
surrender to the death
of thoughts
to nothing but the
infinite
endless starscape
the silver universe
to sever the ties
that bind
to this
3 dimensional
cardboard box
tissue paper
world–

Let it go

Waiting for the day to be over
The ringing in my ears
Immature thoughts
Brainwashed by the media
Their thoughts not their own
While I sit here and stew
they have no idea
they know nothing about the past, present or future
Watching the clock tick
I worry so much about where we are headed
I’m angry that they don’t care
I’m tired and
I’m so so tired
that this hasn’t worked
but why can’t I just let it go
let it go
let it go
Why can’t I just let it go

how close

Today
a new book fell on my lap
more like a collection of
articles
and opinion pieces
and blog posts
written by a 16 year old
and her older counterparts
She interviewed them on many
a topic
from jitters to secrets to masturbation.
As I scrutinized the first few lines
–nay–
paragraphs
and glazed over the rest,
I found myself looking at myself
my
self
16 years ago
“clumsy and shy”–
amidst the muted pinks
and tumblr flowers
and collage of pics and doodles
kitties and safety pins
polka dots and anti-chagrin
I began
to wonder how much is me
how much is you
how much we’re all just the same
how much is new
how much further do I have to go to find
someone writing as the me I am now
how far I’ve come
how distant the teenage years seem
and yet
how close

Sitting II

Cookies gone
The bag is empty
Sitting there
all used up
Tasty snacks
in my belly
Hot cup of tea
restingĀ on the
shelf of my mind–
Oh, how I kind of want
to make you
but
I’m
lazy
you’ll

find–

Yoga

Completely lost
in the Dynamo of
deep breathing
I feel I’ve made it
when the air blowing
in and out of my nostrils
has become cold
The omnipresent force
flowing in its purest form
I chant the mantra OM
and close my eyes
and drift away–

This glorious day

Sunday morning giggles
You jump on me
The original bouncy seat
Your smiles
So pure
How could a thing bother me
on this glorious day?