I haven\u2019t had a lot to offer lately. Honestly, by this point (T-Rexy is 16 days old), I was hoping I\u2019d have the two kid thing down and feel like a champ and have a brain full of wonderful blogging ideas.<\/p>\n
Truth? I have another infection. It\u2019s not mastitis, PTL. (PTL is code for \u201cPraise the Lord,\u201d fyi.) But it\u2019s made me icky and frustrated. I just want to jump back into normal life and be a functioning member of society (or at least of blogging society), who doesn\u2019t need to nap my life away.<\/p>\n
But, until then, I\u2019m posting this and going to bed at 8:30. Here it is, one of the first poems I ever really loved. It just so happens to be about a mother and her boy:<\/p>\n
Waterwings<\/strong> The mornings are his, Or holding a crayon like a candle, Waterwings he calls them, I watch the circles This is sadness, I tell myself,
\nby Cathy Song<\/p>\n
\nblue and white
\nlike the tablecloth at breakfast.
\nHe\u2019s happy in the house,
\na sweep of the spoon
\nbrings the birds under his chair.
\nHe sings and the dishes disappear.<\/p>\n
\nhe draws a circle.
\nit is his hundreth dragonfly.
\nCalling for more paper,
\nthis one is red-winged
\nand like the others,
\nhe wills it to fly, simply
\nby the unformed curve of his signature.<\/p>\n
\nthe floats I strap to his arms.
\nI wear an apron of concern,
\nsweep the morning of birds.
\nTo the water he returns,
\nplunging where it\u2019s cold,
\nmoving and squealing into sunlight.
\nThe water from here seems flecked with gold.<\/p>\n
\nhis small body makes
\nfan and ripple,
\ndisperse like an echo
\ninto the sum of water, light and air.
\nHis imprint on the water
\nhas but a brief lifespan,
\nthe flicker of a dragonfly\u2019s delicate wing.<\/p>\n
\nthe morning he will not remember
\nthat he and beauty were aligned,
\nskimming across the water, nearly airborne,
\non his first solo flight.
\nI\u2019ll write \u201chow he could not
\ncontain his delight.\u201d
\nAt the other end,
\nin another time frame,
\nhe waits for me\u2013
\nhaving already outdistanced this body,
\nthe one that slipped from me like a fish,
\nfloating, free of itself.<\/p>\n