New Birth
I lost more
of my mind than I did
my hair
when you first came out,
water-logged and anxious,
a bit like your mother.
I cared little
for social graces
and faces appearing
to peck at the chores
and leave leftovers
at my door.
I needed sleep
like a memory foam bra
lifting my pelvic floor
and remembering
where the keys
to my sex drive ran off to.
A Matter of Patience
I don’t know any secrets,
I just forgot the time.
Like the time I cried when
I drug my newborn into Starbucks
by myself and there were no
seats and no strangers willing to
concede their comfort to me:
a vacant womb expunged of its life
and searching longingly for a good reason
why this carseat breaks my spoiled arms,
and takes, for the life of me, so much time
I didn’t know I had until I couldn’t find it.
Mommeee
What is it about the vowel “e”?
How does it communicate
more effectively than “a”?
What is it telling me
that you haven’t
already said?
Does the length of
your cry mean
you mean it this time?
Like a lasso flung
around the corner,
this vowel
spins a noose around my neck
back to you,
and you hold it,
tugging me out
from the quiet shade
of my selfish life,
as I rush to your side
to ask, “what?”
Snacktime with Toddlers
Your hands make me nervous,
what happens next?
Another dream ripped away,
(laid to rest)
or burned instead,
dripping over coals
like marshmallows
a la Dali?
I want to be left alone,
yet I’m desperate to be seen,
but for all the unknowns,
I think (I know)
I’m glad you’re next to me.
Any mamas out there relate? I love aiming a poet’s lens at some of the maddening and mundane tasks of making life work with little kids. It’s my way of spinning gold from straw, making art out of the mess. Motherhood is SO HARD, but it is such worthy work. Each of these poems (and many more like it) appear in my forthcoming collection of poetry titled “Buried in the Margins,” available here for preorder. This book is full of the beautiful and challenging spectrum of our life experiences–from the breathlessness of first love and the ensuing pain of separation, to the glory and frustration of raising up children and living a rootless existence (crossing continents) in pursuit of important dreams.
What would you write a poem about today? Would love to read your experiences in the comments 🙂
*Photo by Dakota Corbin on Unsplash
Kelsi Folsom 