If I have to go mad waiting to

Whisper over your skin

Every word I’ve written,

It will be worth it to finally slip

In and pour every letter

Out like a piano with two players

Touching,

Drawing up and down

Praising every curve,

Like sunrise blooming

Over the mountains.

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When I woke up,

I could not match your face with the one I wear on my heart.

Could not recognize the walls of our house.

Could barely believe it would hold when I touched it.

For the days I can’t be energetic

You should know that watching the sunrise

Outside with the warmth of summer on my face,

The first blessing I give thanks for is you.

Precious, beautiful, wonderful, inspiring,

All missing the mark of the colossal beauty of your soul, of your love, of the way you watch half a movie and switch without guilt.

(At least not till after I’ve stopped it and already started switching them).

It’s not fair to feel so nothing, and yet

You love me. And take care,

And joke and kiss and hold

And talk about the world like it wasn’t over.

Starting To Realize I Don’t Have It Together

My mind is a crossword puzzle.

The list of how to care for you,

Our lives, myself,

Is lost between words like

“With no mother, do I have a family?”

I circle every relevant line in invisible ink and

Try every hour to slip past every new distraction.

“Am I here?”

“Do I matter?”

“Will my children have to face this?”

I know there’s something I circled, something I’m forgetting, something essential to moving forward.

At the end of the day I am left with

Crumpled paper and a few words crossed out with short nails.

In the morning the list will be longer.

I will have shorter nails from biting off the ends in my sleep.

Merry Christmas Mom

Just so you know,

Santa still came.

Guess you still have some sway

Up north.

It’s funny how you still fill a room.

Like you’re still sitting in the

Red chair with your white peach mango Lipton tea,

Smiling as brilliant as your gold hair through bleary eyes.

I wish I could’ve opened the sweater you had for me.

It’s okay – I still have last years’.

But I wish I had a thousand to wear one

At a time and know they’d never

Thin. That I could reach in my closet and cover my heart with your fabric any day.

We got our first baby book. Dinosaurs,

Just like the border you put up in my room.

Like the blanket you gave me at birth.

Bet you didn’t see that one coming back around.

I know you’ll be there when it’s born

Because light spreads out.

You see, my friend hasn’t been home

for Christmas in 8 years.

He went back for you.

You’re a supernova mom, and we’re all still

Watching the colors bloom,

Even as we build planets from the stardust.