on long, dusty roads.

we can make time for the what that matters.

water babys

It`s hard to believe
that you are coming
home after a day
at the lake.
Your cheeks swollen red,
your tiny fists sticky
&grabby for my
snarling hair;
your lips pucker &
eyes squeezed tight
taking a lion-sized
yawn...

It`s hard to believe
you have only been
here for 377 days; a
little sunlight, a
little rain, a little rest,
&hours of anxious nights:
I spy your papa in the
corner there--proud of
his accomplishments,
the feats of that day.

So, whisking you upwards
and releasing you to the sky;
I wait for your
heart to fall back in
to my rocking-chaired arms.

hurry

I am ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready ready.

on saying sorry

some times you have to listen just
a little bit harder when he talks
about the things that really matter

to make up for awkward silences,
crossed grumblings, &
ransacked raviolis.

on not having any immediate plans.

i have calculated the approximate time it
takes for me to accomplish each day's needs.
but to be quite honest with the world,
i haven`t thought much further than the edge of my nose.

&i have heard that it is okay to live like this:
wearing socks a little too big, taking steps small & just right,
hours of darkness and bright to think about tomorrows.
still, there is a hope on that ever-growing horizon.

we breathe in each morning, exhaling the night.
&oh, i have so much to learn!
but, take heart--with each half-eaten moon rise, each light we save:
there is plenty of time.