Trial Run

I cried.

And then I didn’t.

Watching Dad

drive you away to daycare

was a distance

you and I have never

experienced.

It feels like a canyon.

But then.

The house was mine.

I could

write

read

shower

eat

untied to a monitor

and a nap cycle.

I could think

about work,

the activities

I would use to entice

girls to be intrigued by numbers.

I anticipated

picking you up,

Our time together

in the afternoon

to play and hug and babble.

I cried again.

And then I didn’t.

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Adventure Awaits

It is rainy season.

Again.

My cheeks match the window,

blurred streaks of water.

I feel full up

with worry.

Formula, naps, bottles, cream –

it’s all different.

This transition will be a lightning bolt

in y(our) world.

I so wanted to make it a low roll

of thunder for you.

But I feel like I’ve failed.

My work life nourishes

me; is essential to my soul. Like you.

You. Work. All pieces

of the puzzle

of me,

and right now the storm of change

is blunting

all the edges.

Solitary Commute

At the second to last traffic light

it hits me:

I have not done this drive alone

in over a year.

Suddenly

my car feels enormous,

solitary-me inflates to fill all

the space.

This independence is as crisp

as the orange leaves

crackling on the trees.

The Return

These trees are the trees 

that stay ever green, 

their needles glow

against the scarlet backdrop 

of their bark cousins.

 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

 

I am meant

for this ridge,

this job of guiding girls

through patterns of numbers,

patterns of life.

 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

 

Half my heart resides in you,

half on this hill in the classroom.

Presentation

A stolen day,

just a couple of hours

at work.

 

I pull on sleek pink pants,

a boatneck top with

big ol’ cuffs.

 

Eyeliner, mascara.

Lipstick! Oh wonderful lipstick!

I slide into heels – black and shiny.

My heart thrills at their every clack

against the kitchen floor.

 

Huddled over you, Dad exclaims:

There is poo everywhere!

 

I blows kisses and grab my keys.

Selfishy

Gloriously

This diaper isn’t mine.