a mamma in the making

"time's a strange fellow/more he gives than takes/and he takes all" ee cummings

morning.  last night’s dishes still dirty in the sink, i sit down to write.

and then a long pause in the writing of this poem from morning to now:

one one one. a good time for wish-making. instead i wonder: where

has the morning gone? to the babe on the blanket, drooling great pools

on her checkered dress.  four loads of laundry, slices of orange and carrots

still on a plate, a too quick visit from a friend, the cats coming in for another lunch.

i am just like them, hungry for more, not having risen to write like i said i would

but instead six times to feed and change and console. at five a.m., i wake with

the neighbors, bottles clink full of rum or some other liquor that makes them

think that it’s ok to speak at such audible volumes at this hour of the day.

i rise again, stamp to the windows and slam them down, hoping they hear.

they do not.  i mutter something unkind and fall back to sleep, angry, annoyed.

too soon the babe on the blanket wakes, her smile enough to erase away the sleep

that stiffly creeps in the corners of my eyes, reminding me that she is the story

we are making right now. the others must and will wait their turn.

This entry was posted on January 8, 2009 at 2:37 pm and is filed under being a mother and an artist, motherhood and writing, poetry.

Tags: poetry and motherhood, writing