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.