They won, we won, what does it mean to lose?
I was awoken at 3am by a small child who peed his bed,
sheets shucked off, corners tucked, fresh jammies placed
on a crying body. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers and calls for
his Daddy.
“It’s ok,” we say in whispers, “it’s ok, but be quiet now
your brother and sister are sleeping.”
Hiccups to sleeping breaths, in and out and short to deep.
In the morning there is the whirl of a blender, the thunder of feet,
the packing of lunches and grinding of beans.
I step in leftover piss by the toilet.
I kiss my sleepy husband on the lips, comfortable
and quick, I wrinkle my nose at the escaped breath.
“Get your clothes on,” we say, “no, leave the cat alone, he’ll
scratch you.”
“Hey, eat your breakfast we have 5 minutes until we need to walk over.”
“Hey honey” a pat on the bottom, a hand on the back.
“Remember yesterday,” he asks me, as our son whines for cornflakes,
remember the two interruptions at the door and we still
got the deed done, persistence and hunger?
Remember.
All I’ve done lately is remember, remember and grieve and touch the
sore places.
Remember to remember that these are the good days, with the loud
and the mess and the rattling of door handles.
Remember it was never all my own, even when I bucked
against it, craved and carved and looked for any silent space.
How can I marvel at it closing already so soon and also train
my eye at that little pin prick of a light at the end?
How’s it to be human?
I often feel like I’m just beginning some
Understanding only to falter and pick up my pen again.