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.