All I can think about are those tiny feet, his first laugh, and how he surprised me one day with the word ‘red’. What a joy as they start to move, and speak and enjoy the world. What heartache when they feel hurt by it.
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I want to say it’s alright.
I want to say you can sleep now,
but then I think of Rumi…
My son points out that my skin looks old,
that it’s made of tiny triangles.
It’s not criticism,
not compliment,
said with an air of almost-worry…
It’s not too late
to go to wild places,
alone,
and unafraid…
In the valley a deer is roaring
too late in the morning to not be seen.
Without thinking
I press my finger to my lips…
The sunrise fills a valley the way I teach my children
to sweep, reaching out as far as you can
How can the world be ending
when there is music on the radio
when somewhere a new life is being born
right now and now and now
Today the world is too big
and me, too small in it.
The people, too many,
the problems, too complex…
I know you’re tired,
lurching from one exhausted moment
to the next, rushed
through life
like a cloud
at the mercy of the wind…
Sleepless elbows and knees find my hip,
shin, and the tender bone under my eye,
my body remembering a knot of child
kneading my bladder, stealing my breath,
stamping footprints on my belly…