Friday, April 18, 2008

all the pieces

Often I am so busy
With laundry and bills and does the dog have to go out again?
And the news and the computer and homework
and how was your day, dear?
That I forget -or worse, ignore-
that you just wanted to make a puzzle.

Hunker down on the floor, pour out all the pieces, sort them
by color and shape and flat sides

but noone else. Just Mama.

I forget, because you seem so young
That you won't always be three
And want to scooch down, belly on the ground,
And talk about your day. And color. And brush the dolls' hair.
And tell me stories of Penelope the Hairbrush and her friends,
saving the day, one wayward curl at a time.

I need to remember that someday I'll be remembering
how small

you were,

and wishing you back, just for one more puzzle.


womaninawindow said...

Sweet moments. Yes, I need to remember, too. Why are we parents so dumb sometimes? Lucky kids you have there.

womaninawindow said...

You know it's good poetry when you are making your bed and words come to you, "How was your day, dear?" and you feel the cadence and you know the words aren't yours and you have to go looking for them just to find out who wrote that poem. You should share more of these, so that I might have more words running through my mind when I make my bed.