My children sleep with their legs tucked like frogs
and their mouths pulled into suck-shape,
as if the womb and the breast
weren’t imagined galaxies ago,
as if there were good memories
from the pink skin-lights,
the daddy booms, the spicy
thai peppers and the rumbles thereafter.
They yield to blanket silk,
curl tight within, and dream,
drift at sea and storms don’t wake.
Far away, above and below,
inside the cup of the most inside ear,
I am singing.
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
thanks for this… you gift
sigh.
Adventures In Babywearing’s last blog post..The Babywearing Stash
What nice thoughts. Could I come rest in your brain for awhile?
Beautiful…
Jo@Mylestones’s last blog post..Stories in my Pocket: The Halting of Spring
This is beautiful, just beautiful. I hope you don’t mind but i posted it on my blog (with credit to you, of course!) because I found it so moving. I’m a reader that came over with the Mother Letter Project but have stayed because of how much I enjoy your writing. I may not comment often but thanks for writing!
Your words almost always put some kind of lump in my throat. So glad to have you ‘back’, here and there. You have a great gift, and a lovely spirit.
write… yes, write.
my.
Ann Voskamp’s last blog post..Why We Hold Memories…
you help me remember the poet inside me… beautifully written…
Kelly’s last blog post..A Sweet Surprise