personal poems, etc.

Cracked open
Sitting with you in my lap
Sweat pulsing down my leg.

Discovering watermelon,
for the first time.
Grasping onto these tiny moments

Freeze time, right here.
We went to pick blueberries and I burst into tears
I used to dream of days like these.

Scooping you up in between the blueberry vines,
your itsy bitsy hands spilling blueberries into my mouth.

Screaming MAMA.
Here, I am.

At last.

tpi

One Womb

My grandma Clara, born in 1919,
carried my mother in 1949.
And within my mother’s tiny sprouting
body over the cornfields
was the egg that would one day become
me.
born in 1986.

Three generations,
one womb.

Maybe this is why trauma travels.
But also resilience.
Bossiness.
Love.
Survival.

Before I was ever born,
the women before me
were already carrying me forward.

tpi

A New Love

All this delight
After all that pain
All that longing

The hole in my womb that I pierced daily
with needles to make you grow.

Blink.

You’re crying out,
throwing dog food into the air.
All in the air.
Hiiii, sun!!
A glorious day! Even on a Monday.
Beep beep, tweet tweet.

I’m kneeling, crawling, remembering nursery rhymes.
I’m ever ready for your chants.

I thought the never-sleeping would be the end of me.
Eight pounds forever.
The institutions made me feel.
She was right around the corner.

My intuition.
My mother, and her mothers beyond.
All the sweetness of you.
I feel inside out.
Unplug me here.

How are my ribs still aching
from your left toe kicking me?
Fresh dreamer in this new world.
Fastest, slowest time.
I miss it already, but I’m still here.

Mothers Day, 26’