a poem for you

The Butterfly, by jo

Does the beautiful butterfly know she has wings?
Is she aware of ethereal flashings beating behind her
supporting her every action?
twisting. flitting. through morning's dew.
fragile and eternal
Supported with gossamer veils
existing in both worlds.

Does she know of them?
Is she aware she is always connected?
in all ways supported.
Does she sometimes wonder at herself?
feel alone and separate.
Only catching glimpses in peripheral
madly chasing
moving wildly to grasp that which is her birthright.

That which could not leave her -

for even a caterpillar is a butterfly,
if only on the inside.
and that is where it counts.

my little boy's lullaby

I love you best when it's dusk and you're fighting the inevitable slumber.
Kicking ferociously beside me. Each stretch of your legs marked with a punctuated grunt.
Rolling away and back again.
Nursing and rubbing your eyes.
Pulling away.
Little wet wormy fingers
scratching and pulling desperately at my face.
Grasping fleshy cheeks, a protruding nose
then exploring - wiggling and prying my lips.
finding my teeth
A sudden realization and satisfaction
leaves as soon as it's realized
and the leaving is marked by more grunting and kicking
which begins to morph into a slumber song
another sort of exploration
sound
repeated
sound
repeated
your fingers lost track on my face
nurse, nurse
your lullaby coo
rubbing eyes with heavy lids
you succumb for a moment and drift off
and I think for just a moment "oh no, I'm going to miss you"
then eyes flutter open, as if you heard my thought
two pats on my check from your open palm
the last throws of a boxer who's lost his match
grateful and smitten I kiss your head and
breath you in. I love you best this way too.
Covered in peace, but certainly not the bed sheet.


P.S. I found my camera! Thank you! Thank you! My little boy's personal paparazzi has returned!

Poetry and Sickness

Things that don't suck about being sick:

• getting to stay in my pajamas all day long - guilt free!
• naps
• baths
• soup
• crappy daytime television
• unsolicited sympathy from loved ones
• a new found respect for my body and gratefulness for health

My little one is suffering with the same bug I am - it just seemed to hit him a bit later. Poor little one...I love him so much. Parenting and the art of surrendering to what I can't control.

Other random things, a poem about breastfeeding by yours truly.

Long breast pave the way of my love.

stretched and used up,

ample and supple

Once organized and perky,

now function and comfort.

It leaks and spills out,

proof of my love

soppy and weepy - at the most inconvenient times

Such a transformation - a greater version of myself

Hosting, sharing and supplying for another

I've learned to come home to myself.

~Ciao friends! More crappy t.v. for me!