The poem is the year
by Kristin Berger
My womb is the small secret page,
the right words dividing, scrolling to life.
In January, I crochet a blanket to cover my lap,
then fall asleep. Rain swims gray and light...
Continue reading The poem is the year |
Mid-March
By Martha Christina
My son points as I thread us
through morning traffic.
"Look at the green under that dead tree.
It's new grass," he says, and I catch
a quick peripheral glimpse...
Continue readingMid-March
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Robot mom
by Barbara Lauderdale Hearn
Go, go, go
there's no stopping
these days.
I am compelled
to be doing something,
at all times.
Even my eyelids
are heavy and hurt...
Continue readingRobot mom |
For an unborn daughter
By Lisa Higgs
In the silent corner of the house,
I sometimes hear your melody rising
as each star must on some foreign planet.
You play the piano softly,
your small hands unsure of the space
between each step higher in a scale...
Continue reading For an unborn daughter
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Heavenly
By Deborah Hurley
I clearly remember taking his little hands into mine as I gazed into his huge green eyes. I will never forget kneeling on the floor, whispering my intense love for him. There are no words to describe the joy and peace I feel when I am with my son. I realize how different his life would have been had I not chosen to fight. I realize that every whisper, every touch, every look and every kiss made a difference...
Continue reading Heavenly |
Place of peace
by Lynn Mattingly
Oh, my tiny little baby.
You will be so small for such a short time.
Soon you will grow big and brave and leave my arms.
Someday you will find your place of peace, your very own.
I see you outside, wandering off into the woods all by yourself...
Continue reading Place of peace |
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Grandma's heirloom
by Monica Lynn Moraca
Quietly I cuddled my tiny cherub,
soft brown curls neatly tucked under
her satin bonnet,
she stretches her limbs and nestles
into the corner of my heart.
Red velvet caresses her supple skin
as she fondles the bridges of my support...
Continue reading Grandma's heirloom |
The price of passion
by Wamuhu Mwaura
is this the price of passion
a life filled with remorse
needless struggle
all-consuming pain
a life filled with self-pity...
Continue reading The price of passion |
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A special meal:
Remembering mother
By Janet Paszkowski
There is a small pine box
resting in the China cabinet
an archive
of robust kindred recipes...
Continue reading A special meal: Remembering mother |
Boy
by Laura Sobbott Ross
Some day he will stop blowing kisses back—
buoyant affirmations snagged mid-air
and his small splayed fingers closing.
He will not recall
the baby skin, tiny and fragrant,
through which he stretched into childhood—
Continue reading Boy |
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Forever pink
by Jan Marin Tramontano
I gather clothes littering the bedroom
floor, chair, and bed:
a pair of jeans, stained red with
Friday night’s pizza
a band shirt considered
then carelessly tossed down
on a wet towel...
Continue reading Forever pink |
My mother
by Shirley Gerald Ware
She is in and out of consciousness
As she lays motionless, adrift in her bed
Her eyes in perfect focus.
As her children crowd her room
One by one they prey on her consciousness
Looking for the impossible
But knowing that she is suspended
In a galaxy beyond their reach...
Continue reading My mother |
