Eggs III

how to build a proper nest for time…

link, loop like straw, tuck, paper like twine.

foxes and box kites knocking the clime,

Momma’s little yoke,

chichi calcium, nature’s design…

Momma’s baby folk.

***

Another form, the Burns Stanza found here.

End of a Day

“Mommy!”

He kept them up last night till I got home from overtime. It was like heaven.

“Mommy! Mommy! I got all smiley faces!!”

“Mommmmmeeee mommmeeeee potty!”

She with the blackish brown eyes ran at me and hugged my belly.

The LittleOne ran at me and hugged my legs. A blond and brown pony tail met my eyes as I looked down at my babies, my growing, loving babies that I created. I carried. I care for.

“Ok, back here to finish your stories.” My Love is beaming from the bed, knowing he did a nice, RIGHT thing, proud of himself for lasting ONE MORE DAY as a single dad while I work the 7 to 7 overtime. More money for our struggling family. The little pony tails bounce back to the bed. They climb up, but still face me, chattering like sparrows.

“Mommy, I have a splinter you need to get out.” She with the blackish brown eyes shows me her soft palm, with a tiny sliver of wood in it. My heart soars. I AM the one who deals with splinters. He can’t take it, but moms have to do the things that cause pain to create healing.

“Booboo! Booboo!” Not to be outdone, The LittleOne shows me a fresh shin bruise that I simply must kiss immediately.

Off to get the tweezers, my eyes fill a little. Yes, I’m tired (boy there should be a different word for HOW tired), so a little emotion is predictable.

But really, it was honest joy. Look at all my gifts…

Growing Babies

Of the human garden
Its equal opportunity
Fertile
 
Short mercy
Glory
Swallow and dissolve
 
Striations
Ruby bullets
Tells
 
Capacity to know
Less successful at forgetting.
 
You want them to be silly hearts

That Explains The Butter

My husband found the loaf of bread hidden, near my side of the bed.

Butter Face

The LittleOne just came into the kitchen in her diaper and plopped down on the table two unwrapped, soft sticks of butter.
I’m stumped.

There Should Be No Lines

So She Says II: A List

Let me get you started:

Good mother, wife and friend.

Gifted writer.

Believer in fairies and fate and God.

Dreamer who hasn’t lost her faith in love.

Future or Past

Sunday, Sauce and Paper Dolls

Circles In A Pond

The children are writing on themselves.

I am tattooed, its true. Recently I got something new. This is the fourth tattoo since my oldest was born. She gets very excited, she loves me, she thinks its neat. She loves the fakes ones. But she hadn’t written on herself before.

The youngest is a hellion. She writes on everything and herself. The freedom and disregard for authority of the youngest has busted a dam in the oldest. The oldest is now lying, acting sneaky. Then…

I am doing dishes and I can hear the girls chattering away, playing and being silly in the “playroom”, a.k.a. a really small cozy nook behind the This-End-Up Couch. I wander into the livingroom just to check on them and notice my oldest decorating the youngest’s feet with blue triangles. Right below where she has written her own name.

“What are you doing?” She executes the “I’m Caught!” jump and I get no response.

Closer inspection reveals much decorating of skin has occured. And this is the second such incident since the newest tattoo. Sigh.

I get them both in the bathroom. I will have to scrub them since she wasn’t using crayola or anything, but some random no-name that came from a kit. I sit down on the milk crate and start pulling off clothes.

“Why did you do it?” I ask her casually. She is trying to get undressed without unbuttoning but stops at my question.

“I don’t know.” She responds, getting serious.

“Come on, I know you aren’t stupid, so knock it off. Tell me why.”

“I wanted a tattoo, like you.”

And there it is folks.
Thats how fast actions meet their consequences.