Before and After You

I had you
long before I got you,
for months we shared
the little intimacies of my life.

Then you were born
I thought those times were gone.
You are walking now

and still we share those moments
as nimbly you step
through the bathroom door
before I close it behind me.

Twinkletoes and Butterfingers

The broken cake
is witness to
twinkletoes and butterfingers

The scattered toys
speak loudly of
twinkletoes and butterfingers

Splashing water
from the bath
twinkletoes and butterfingers

Hugs and kisses
are precious from
twinkletoes and butterfingers.

Fairies Angels Butterflies

Little fairies, little angels
little butterflies around us flit
stay oh so still
and watch them fly
right out of our very midst.

Babies to girls, girls to women
they'll soon be grown and gone
stay oh so still
and watch them fly
right out of our very midst.

This flower of our dreams...

This little one
who runs - who flies! -
who races the wind
will touch the sky
when we are slow
and old and gone.

But the light from our eyes
will shine in her sight
and our passion for life
will help lessen her strife
as she reaches for stars
forever.

Today I Woke...

I sleep on my side
fetal position
knees drawn tight
to my chest
taking the blows
on my back
protecting my innards

I sleep on my side
mummy in sarcophagus
arms crossed tight
across my chest
holding my shoulders
wrapped in the linen
of nightmares

I sleep on my side
head tucked in
chin drawn tight
to my chest
holding my lips
closed lest they
dare speak the pain

Today I woke
leg stretched out
arm flung upward
head thrown back
resting on the pillow
three quarter turned
smile with eyes closed
a great body shot

Today I Awoke...

Perhaps he would be nine now

nine in some cold uncaring orphanage

or nine in the luxury of some

ritzy suburb

nine years into life

cursing our anonymity

yet longing to know his past

nine now, and soon nineteen

to be parenting bastards of his own.

Would we have broken under

being parents at nineteen?

The real bastards - us.

Thoughts in vain

he didn't even live to see

the second trimester.

A mother - a writer once said to me Do what will endure because she was of love and of good humor because she was of joy and caring for un-met friends. I tried. Now I write and play with my child who knows not of dirty dishes in the sink, unmade beds, bathtub ring, of dust collecting on oak and maple, of records clothed in other jackets, but gives me of herself her toothless smile and sometimes of her oatmeal.