Untitled/031318

lies and lacewing bugs
all of our childhoods are shattered
when we grow
and we see our parents
were never who we thought
how can we be different
for our children
better
so we aren’t the first
to break their heart’s
the first to teach them distrust

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sometimes i look at them
and i think they are
little versions of us
T looks more like me
and J like you
but for the eyes and lips
T has full lips like you
J’s thin like mine
the eyes don’t make sense though
they’re brown, as are yours
but yours have no green
the way our boys’ do
and a funny thing about eyes:
i read (or maybe heard) once
that they are already full sized
the day a person is born
so maybe they look like
a miniature me and a miniature you
but there is nothing
miniature about their
ever-changing yet never-changing
green-browns that pierce my heart

In response to Miniature.

two boys sitting at a table

T:
a paper and pile of crayons
laid out in front of him
will he draw clouds?
probably not
he doesn’t really draw yet
he sits in his booster seat
putting the crayons back
and dumping them again
but his blond curls
are fluffy this morning
like cumulus

J:
he could tell you about clouds
how they are made
we read a book about weather
and he remembered
and we talked about
where water goes
when the sun dries it
and where rain comes from
he knows evaporation
sometimes he remembers condensation
and babies come from volcanoes

*In response to Clouds

it might have started in a Ford Explorer, but probably not…

for me the journey started five Septembers ago

R first knew we were expecting someone
when i threatened to vandalize Starbucks

i wouldn’t admit it was true until i peed on a stick
we sat and waited on a little pink plus sign

+
and there it was

i still didn’t believe it for a while
not until i heard his heartbeat for the first time

as he turns four in a day or two
i still don’t believe it some days

who let me take this precious human home?
who thought it was okay to trust me with a life?

J is like his father
like a twin is like his brother

speaking of twins, sometimes i’m sure T has one,
a sister, if so, i know we’ll meet her in Heaven

by the way, R first suspected number two too
before i would admit it

we were on a date (a rarity for us, regretfully)
and i couldn’t eat my pasta, aversion to tomatoes again

this time it was a blue line, different brand
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and now i am forever a mother of two, perhaps three,
precious souls who have brown eyes and birthday marks