Published on September 5th, 2017 | by Rebecca Smolen5
This morning I left you lying in our bed
sleeping to the c-pap lullaby.
I got dressed, brushed my teeth
and still I hesitated to wake you
though I wanted to, I wanted you.
I went downstairs to make us tea
I wiped those tears into my Sunday sweatshirt
beginning to swell,
high tide swiftly approaching.
I chose the easy love though.
Our babies are
ecstatic at my entrance.
Their embrace around my waist,
their heads pushing hard into my gut,
their passion penetrating my womb
the way they were cut from it.
One short of breath and with furrowed brow
the other barely waiting for face exposed,
screaming lovely exuberance into the world.
Both having hair from a sailors delight.
The spout of the teapot now hot and angry;
the distance between us the same.
It gets mixed into meals,
stranded in the floor that usually separates us
or even trapped inside my pillow that you’ll find
still warm and pitted like broken sleep.
I wait for you, and run my hands
through the steam curling upward
disappearing between my fingers,
longing to put back time.
All the Colors
My daughter exclaims to me
her artistic plan.
She dips the frayed bristles into
each crisp color,
Romantically circles her brush
then angrily strikes sharp lines.
The whole canvas finishes in waves of brown.
Only the very edges have any remnants of a rainbow
and she is proud.