We aren’t exactly driving into a faded memory. And not because we’ve got the windscreen wipers fixed. You’ve got your hands reaching out to mine. And mine, yours. And the trees are of the prettiest hue the earth could offer.
#TodayImGratefulFor each millisecond of singing “You Are My Sunshine and seeing my little lady flash that gorgeous grin of hers as I gave her a warm bath. She’s got my heart revelling in sweet, sweet comfort after a long day.
#TodayImGratefulFor my daughter’s morning scent, and then being able to hold her tight as the gorgeous morning sky glimmered across us outside the car window.
(Been feeling a little blah lately, I thought I could use some beautiful reminders of the kind, kind things I should be grateful for.)
When I was little, I often got baffled by and amazed at the things my mum knew that I thought only I knew. “A mother’s instinct,” she said. And a little more amazed, I went.
Nothing’s changed. I still am very much amazed for as much as being amazed could go. By the things my mum magically knows, and this time, also by this indescribable strong bond I feel with my baby and how I can tell when she’s tired, when she’s feeling okay, when she’d love some socializing or otherwise. I could feel it each and every time, and I know. I just know. Like on some nursing sessions, where I feel such strong wondrous bonding vibes that get us both delving deeper into a beautiful, comforting silence, just the two of us. I can feel it when she’s comfortably falling into a beautiful sleep. I get comforted embracing this amazing bond that surrounds us during these magical nursing sessions. It can go for as long as an hour, and then a little more. And then I get uneasy when we’re interrupted. When a sudden noise pops up. When someone else starts a conversation. Because it has been just the two of us. Just me and my baby. And I get uneasy when the people surrounding us attempt to socialize with my baby at this time. I know she’s tired. I know she’s comfortably trying to fall asleep. I know and I can feel it, the way my mother knows about the things I thought only I knew.
It’s magical and it surrounds me now in ways I never could have imagined; a mother’s instinct. (And so I wrote a poem.) #poemsonreceipts
We practiced our wedding dance
in an unfinished basement
to a song you made up in your head.
You told me it needed to be a waltz.
I’ve never been able
to keep a rhythm,
but I’m happy to let you
take the lead.
Stop asking people how they’re doing. You can find out the truth quicker simply by asking them who they’re thinking about.
Do not come to me if you crave a vanilla love. I am a hurricane, dear, evacuate before the storm gets you. I am chaos, I am not beauty. I am gut wrenching poetry and African drums, I am a shipwreck. Angels hide when they hear me call for them.
You will want me, and I will drive you mad.
There is no innocence within me. I am not gentle or fluid. I am passion. I am drunk sex and cruel humor. You will never be able to please me.
Sometimes I just sit and stare at my books, amazed at how many lives are sitting on the shelves.
I want to build you a library.
She built walls inside her head,
to see if anybody was
clever enough to climb them.
Money clips and golden lighters
between the pixels of all the printed faces.
“The world is full of kings and queens
Who blind your eyes
And steal your dreams”
And if they won’t give us our freedom,
We’ll have to take it.
She thought about fear
and the price of imagination.
And her heartbeat rocked the mattress.