september 24.

i flung guilt at you last night
you were digging where you shouldn't have been
(according to my unspoken mental demarcation)
unearthing that which i'd haphazardly stowed
out of your perceived purview.

so you broke an ornament
a doughy imprint of your hand
a memento from when you were an only child
the physical result of a night with the three of us
painting on your little table.

my nostalgic heart clenched at the crack
sure that even glue would not restore it
to its imperfect form
and instead of consoling
my voice manifested frustration and upset.

what i should have done
was grasp you tightly
show you how big your hands are now
in comparison
and try to tell you the words for a special night.

these things we spend time making
scheming, pinning, planning
they are just the things, after all
the point is not the result
but the slow deliberate togetherness.

september 22.

you are wrapped
like a starfish
around my body
back and forth
back and forth

nuzzling into my neck
drooling onto my shoulder
you guide my arm to your back
the moment i threaten
to slide you to your quiet bed

my frenetic days
and whirlwind evenings
feel like even this moment
is for hurrying
counting the backs and forths

but i try to stop
smell your head
cup your empanada feet
relish the warm weight of you
close my eyes and breathe.

september 15.

i have been running
some
knees creaking
but it's getting easier
slowly.

the best part
is that every run
has its own smell
and it is never what i expect.

the first day of summer camp
the mechanic shop by my grandmother's house
a trip to new orleans
outdoor coffee shops in prague.

memories living in my nose.

september 11.

after much twirling
crashing down into the grass
giggling
you said your back was itchy
can i take my dress off?

we said you could
since you asked
please
since we were in the backyard
relatively shielded.

you leaped back into the yard
shoulder blades like baby wings
undies ballooning on your little body
legs and arms longer than they were
even yesterday.

a while later
we gathered your found treasures
crystals, dried leaves, so many feathers
look how beautiful
plopped you in the bath.

you emerged so clean
skin calm
baby wings tucked into your flower gown.

september 8.

when it's time for bed

these days

you thrash and flail

a wild thing

furious at the injustice.

i never know

exactly what you need

a stern shush

calming words

a song and circles on your little back.

daddy rescues you

from my lack of intuition

using his big arms

and his man voice

to hold you down until you are calm.

my wish is for this to be

the sweetest time of day

inhaling your clean baby smell

drooly face tucked into my neck

legs frogged around my torso.

august 27.

it is so hot and still
and dry
this time of year is withering
for plants, the ground
my energy

the children wake up
she is demanding and somewhat
venomous
and my withered response
is not what she needs

this cycle
of lashing out
fierce defensive mean
will hopefully be shorter
than a texas summer rain.

august 22.

you use your head as a weapon
and a cushion
(good thing it's so hard)

you slam it indiscriminately
on the floor
my face
the corner of so many tables

after the crack or thump
you look up
trembling lip
"bonk" you say

lately this is the only time you're still
i kiss the knot
nuzzle your snotty face into my neck.

august 20.

this week you lost three pounds
you refuse to eat when you're sick
your little body burning with fever
curled under so many blankets
eyes wide and glassy

it's not that i like it when you're ill
it's that i relish it when you are my baby again
small quiet needy
with aches that only mama can soothe

still.
you heal quickly
a blessing
back to your wild gestures and your big feelings
your legs too long and energy too grand for my lap.

july 22.

i don't know what time it is
as usual
but it's dark and i'm too hot
my legs and back twisted.

still.
when you sleep, you are smaller
younger than you seem while awake.
little sucking sounds from your perpetual thumb.

you smell like summer
sunscreen shampoo dirt sweaty feet.
your hair sticks to my neck
despite our climbing electric bill.

i should walk you back
build a palette on our floor
something to undisrupt the disruption.

but you curl against me just so
an echo of when you lived there
and i'm sleepy (in spite of the heat)

this is a season that will be gone
too soon.

june 24.

three rocks fell out of my pocket
left in a small pile where i was lying on the couch
i noticed them this morning

this is happening a lot lately
reminders of your collections
in my pockets
in the laundry
in cupholders or a rogue shoe

when i see them
i have to resist the urge
to sneak into your room
and curl around your sleepy body.

june 22.

in the bath
together
your hair wet and slick
makes me think of when you were younger
balder
a blob of chub and softness.

now, you stack your toys
on my belly
a turtle
an alligator
(chomp chomp)
laugh and splash with your busy agenda
raise one eyebrow.