Hello Justice and Poetry lovers, fans, supporters, community, family, and friends!
This week my little poetry subject, poem of the week is the thing most near and dear to my heart, my daughter and being a mom. Poetry and parenting.
My daughter is my heart. And she is my inspiration. Being a mom is pretty much what I was made to do, among, of course things of poetry and justice. I have had to go through a lot for it, and so has my girl. We have one of those lives - back and forth, joint custody, and high conflict in between. But I cherish the time we have together and I pray without ceasing that she grows up to know she was so loved always, despite the chaos of things at times.
My daughter writes poetry too, on occasion. And we talk about it all of the time. This is an area where we bond and grow together, and I am so grateful for it.
If you ever meet me and if there are babies in the room, it will be 100% guaranteed that these babies will come to me, be comfortable with me, want to sit on my lap, and that I will spend the time reading to them and playing with them vs. maybe talking to you or other adults. No offense, but babies and kids - we are on the same page. We speak the same language.
This week I have an article up about self compassion, parenting, living in the moment - go check it out here, please.
This week I also self-published my second collection of poetry, Reveal. I like it. This is a collection that tells a story in four parts, a story of a year in the life, really. A memoir in poetic form. If you get it, let me know and also, help a sister out via spreading the word or leaving a review. Thank you so very very much!
I also have a poem about my girl, she is eleven, and well you know how it is - time goes by too fast, so fast, painfully fast and us moms, us parents, we always think we can slow it down or wedge ourselves in-between the growing up and our kid. Heads up, I know this, you know this, but I suppose we have to hear it over and over again: we cannot.
So here’s Eleven - the link, and the poem, right here in your inbox.
Eleven
A Poem
I see her baby face
still, just still
especially when she is sleeping
or hurt, or sad
I see my baby, and
I miss her at the same time
I cherish the times she wants to snuggle,
I cherish the times she wants to talk.
I wait, I listen, I watch
as things in her change
her interests, her skills, her jokes
she plays soccer at recess now, she still
loves drawing and graphic novels, she still
likes Barbies and slime,
she is learning dances now, a new thing
she is a good dancer - and then I think
I sort of used to be too, in high school
I danced with a troop, my squad, my friends and frienemies
at halftime during basketball games
not the glory of the football cheerleaders no, but still
of some sort of cheer, of some sort of public pep
attempts at entertaining though, were never my thing
I preferred quiet poetry even then, and I think
my girl, my girl, my little-big girl, she writes poetry too
I’ve seen it, I’ve read it, I’ve cheered her on
my cheering works best one-on-one -
eleven, sweet eleven, these moments fly by
us moms as foolish as ever, trying to lay our bodies
in between the spheres of the hourglass
to somehow stop time -
you know we only get buried.
Thank you for your support, always.
Sincerely,