A Poem

I am reading about writing and feel the overwhelm of possibilities. I could read all the books on anyone’s list, or the long list on my own. I could read poems, because Ray Bradbury says to read a poem a day. I want to write short stories, but don’t read them, so Stephen King might say, what is the point. I don’t read much poetry, but the pieces I have memorized hover over my days with new connections. Hopkins is my favorite! The words jump up with joy in the dead of winter. They are short and full of faith, which makes me feel big.

This is a two-second poem to scratch at my world. Writing motherhood and moments are what I settle with today.

Babble “Me-Me,” or “Mommy” from the top step

“No dropping,” I say as he again strikes fist forward

We look together and then I turn away

Your eyes, Izzy brown

Look bigger than Christmas

As you circle the house falling by purpose

Spots of juice dribble dry from your lips

All crying more and wipe and see and no more NOs

And I pause to feel my shoulders grip my ears

I frozen and Christ spilling open

Pulled in two yet steadied by a Voice and some nails

Witness a memory and how he endures.