I was reading my friend Katy's blog today and thought I would post this. I just wrote it the other night as I rocked B.
Love is not always an ecstatic, manic frenzy that causes the heart to shout, dance, and leap:
Is my phone broken?
Why won’t he text?
Should I check my inbox?
Love can be the simplicity of holding the sleepy little prince
rocking back and forth (back and forth),
with his warm little body in footed pjs (which promise adventure in outer space)
that once fit perfectly in the crook of my arm—but now lays long and heavy from my left shoulder to my right hip—
and the scent of “gentle, no tears” lingering in his hair.
Dark, little eyes blink and sparkle—catching all the light in the darkness.
The smallest, softest hand tickles the hollow of my throat and
(As I did after marathon phone calls ending with dawn)
(As I did after reading the love letters thick with emotion)
(As I did after inhaling the perfume of deep, red roses)
I sigh.
My love for the prince grounds my soul and it is nice to have a smooth landing.
3 comments:
This is so sweet. What a lucky boy to have a mom who loves him so much.
I rocked my four-year-old this morning. Even big kids can be our babies when we take the time to hold them close. I spent ten minutes telling her everything I love about her, and I meant every word.
So very, very lovely, K.
I love the polar balance to this.
v.
This is so great. I love poetry, love love love it. I'm glad you posted this. Gives me the courage to post some of my own up here.
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