Mothering my Boy

Parenting is not static. It is a trip you are taken on. From the moment I brought my boy home I knew I was in over my head, but I have never before or since been so happy to be out of my depth.

This first poem was written when my son was growing out of the toddler years. It was my attempt to claim our trials as triumph. It is also a rallying cry for parents, an ode to the important work we do.

My Work Supersedes the GNP

My work enfolds me
            heart and sinew
            brain and marrow
It is my job, it is my work.
It is next to me in my dreams.
Moves with me while I dance
late, to the blues in smoky bars.
When I drive down the coast
my work sits in the co-pilot seat.
Right this minute my job kneels beside me
hungry and demanding. My job
is my throbbing skull
is my empty pockets.

The tools of my trade
are sidewalk chalk
            and fairy whispers. Kisses
and Star Wars Band-Aids.

I make heroes from cell division.

Now my boy has grown and I am in awe. I look back at the evolution of our love. He has grown to be someone I am very proud to call my son, but I recognize that so much of who he is has nothing to do with me. I am finding that there is a lot of push-pull in having an almost grown child. My stars are re-aligning, right along with his.

Celestial Shift

New born. Soft 

cheeks, blistered lip - the world

arrested on its axis.

Some children 

phase us because 

of the deep hurt in

them and the ways

they are pain in the world. When

I was pregnant I read

grisly midwives-tales:

Some babies are born at odds

in the world and find no ease

at home. For ten lunar months

I obsessed

about babies in the wrong place. What I 

gave birth to was not. If there was

one thing about my boy it was

luminous alien-baby beauty, if there

was one thing it was how easily we fit - first

child - only. Eighteen

years. We cruise through morning

kitchen rituals. Long car rides

lead to insights about the old familiar

at our elbow. I am preparing for this

Celestial Shift. When this stalwart

of my heart moves away.

P.S. This took me a long time to post because some of the words (which looked fine in compose mode) would appear highlighted in white in the preview mode. I fixed it by re-typing the poems, so it appears to be a formatting issue. If anyone has any insight about how to fix or avoid the problem I would appreciate tips!