It’s petals laying crossways,
My grandmother always said,
Notice their ruffled beauty,
Across the body, throughout her head.
The heart will lead us,
Paths rarely easy,
With moments of dread.
However, trust
You’ll make it through,
The alternative is dead.
Don’t bother comparing us,
Simply won’t do,
We share similar parts,
But totally different hues.
Sensing your internal struggle,
Trying to decide between two,
Confessing to you now,
She’s finding her way back to you.
Knowing your confidence all too well,
I’ll offer, what I know to be true,
I prefer to continue alone,
If she still owns any part of you.
I fall hard
but this is what I do.
I imagine long walks,
you pointing out the vision
I see as reality,
but this is what I do.
I picture myself as a flower,
each petal adored, even
in her simplicity,
but this is what I do.
The vast Midwestern skyline
of Nebraska takes me to
where you are daily, and I pray
but this is what I do.
I wander inside of a daydream
where we exist as one,
but this is what I do.
There
Isn’t
Anything
To
Wait
For.
This is it, and so is now
And now,
Now
Now
Now
Now,
Yep, and now.
You get the idea.
Women employed by conditions
Beyond their control,
Wore cotton prairie dresses
Stained, of their station,
Laundered just the same
I can remember when becoming a mom consumed my every thought.
How to convience, plan and encourge a journey leading life in that direction.
Those first few months, I recognized within me a confidence, it was solid, made for it, indeed. Doubt didn’t stand a chance.
I never, not once, saw myself going it alone.
Being mom always included a dad.
Here I am, a mom. Content with how we’ve done. The children are a constant beside me. Never questioning the road. Still not comfortable parenting solo.
I always thought families deserved both.
Even if mom looks like this…
I think you’ll agree there’s an astonishing similarity.
Circa 2012
