I am the Lucky One

My husband, children and I spent the day just being together.  First, we attended soccer games for our daughter and oldest son in the morning, then we raked leaves in the backyard as a family, had a cozy supper together with my father, and spent the evening talking and laughing.  The weather could not have been more perfect, and the day went beautifully.  My children amaze me.  Spending time with them and enjoying them makes me blissfully happy.  They are, by far, the best part of my life.  I am the lucky one in this family because I get to be a mother to Abby, Jack and Joshua. Seeing the world through the eyes of your children, renews your confidence in humanity, in the true beauty of life.  So, in honor of my kids, here are a few poems I have written about childhood and children.

Assuming the Position

Assuming the position, our arms
held out in supplication
palms raised to the sun
heads thrown back in bliss
necks exposed and vulnerable
backs straight and stretched
one foot out with pointed toe
twirling, swirling energy
compressed into ever tighter circles
a centrifuge of pure, childish joy
turning again and again
until I collapse into a breathless
heap of humanity
in the fragrant summer grass
with you giggling in my arms
asking for more.

Goodnight Moon

In the moon, there is a man
and every night he takes your hand.
He whispers softly, "Go to sleep
and dream your dreams of the deep."

When your eyes begin to fall
and to the day you gave your all
in bed you'll climb, safe and sound
and draw your blanket all around.

Then your breath will even out
to sleep you'll go without a doubt
to visit visions in your head
snugly tucked inside your bed.

Say, "Goodnight moon and goodnight star,
take me to the lands afar.
Keep me there until daylight.
We'll meet again tomorrow night."


Hummingbird Cake

Cream cheese frosting
hid the tiny birds
that I knew would burst forth any moment
from the two-layer cake on the table.

My five-year old nose may have been fooled
by the scents of vanilla and cinnamon,
but my ears knew they could hear humming.
I could almost see them
waiting frantically inside for me to notice.

They rootsed in a nest spun
from sugar and flour and eggs.
They snacked on mashed bananas and pineapple,
nibbling on chopped pecans,
biding their time.

Then, like a song of sixpence,
when Mother sliced the cake,
they would start to fly
before snipping off my nose.

Abigail's Christmas

Backlit by glowing little lights,
multi-hued beauty refracted on your face,
adding lovely to loveliness.
My gaze lingered on your slumbering form
until I shut my eyes against the bittersweetness
of your growing up.
In self-imposed night, memories of lavender
that slipped from your brow down
mint-green cheeks nestled in
rosy pouting lips,
and stayed as my vision.
You dreamt under pine boughs, waiting
for Santa Claus, and the tinsel swayed
back and forth, buoyed by your baby breath.
I inhaled the winter warmth that danced
around your body, scented like earth
and something sweeter yet. I worshipped
your perfection until my heart broke
with the joy of loving you so.

Remembering Four

A weekend ritual--
this playing in the park.
You and I run on equally short legs
never noticing the inadequacies of youth.

I can tell you are smiling--
doggy-pink tongue lolling then lapping
with enthusiasm that makes
your golden body shake, feathered tail wag.

Leaning over to hug you,
I grasp your grass-scented fur
in my pudgy four-year-old fingers
creating a tactile memory to keep.

When you and I are older
and age becomes and brings distraction,
I will unwrap remembrance
and hold childhood in my hands.

Mother and Child

Mother and child
create a circle--
a forever entity,
with arms outstretched
and hands held tightly.

Love sparkles
like fireflies
in rippled water
on the edge of an evening
as their heartsongs melt
into a setting sun.