He was 9 months old then...
Matthew
I would rather have no time for poetry
if it's because
I'm your mother
Loving you in my arms
smiling
struggling to grow
Engrossed in a pile
of toys
needing to be waited on...tended to
guided...taught...disciplined...shaped
enjoyed...kissed...hugged...and fed
Then, later, when you sleep
or in a cafe at 11am while you watch
people
talk to lights
drop keys and wonder
where the rice puffs are
I will write a poem for you
Posted by heidi at February 24, 2010 07:52 PM