Sweet and Small

You sat on my lap 

And cooed me a promise

To always stay little and sweet.

You give me slobbery kisses,

Nap snuggled on my lap,

And burrow your head into my shoulder.  

But today is the first time

You will break the promise 

You never intended to keep.

I will rejoice and sorrow 

As you gingerly discover frosting

And grin while family celebrates.

Next you will stand and toddle away from me,

Throw tantrums, sing the alphabet,

Steal toys from your brother and ride a bike.

Time will betray me over and over.

You will ramble endlessly about Harry Potter,

Spider-Man, Legos, and knock-knock jokes.

I will watch you with gladness and grief

Knowing that no bribe can keep you

From growing, learning and achieving. 

Leaving me overflowing with sorrowful joy.

*This is a roughly written poem composed on my IPhone while Henry napped on me.  

To My Unborn Son

Before you were conceived,

I dreamed of you;

Then woke to search 

Through rooms, in beds and under cushions.

Frenzied, I would whisper

Where is he?

Until my consciousness reminded me

You were not there.

Now in quiet moments, I feel the flutter

Of your arms and legs inside me

As I pray that you will grow

Healthy, strong, and good.

Soon, I will swaddle you,

Lay you in your bassinet,

And fall asleep to the rhythm of your breath

Until I wake with a mother’s anxiety.

Frenzied, I will whisper

Where is he?

Until I realize, you are there

Filling the vacancy in our home.

The Ramblings of a Toddler

Look! A rock - oh there's some leaves!

I'll stuff the brown ones up my sleeves.
They're itchy  - oh look the rock
I should stick it down my sock.

That hurts a bit - I see a bug
It looks dead. I want a hug.
Mommy, will you carry me?
Down, down!  Another bug!  See.

Mommy, watch me climb those stairs.
One step, two - now it's a chair
Tap, tap my legs against the stone.
Look up - no let's just go home.

Running, running, now I walk.
Let's go – Hey, look, a rock!

Bubbles

Dozens of bubbles drift in the air

Over your shoulders and around your hair.

Your hands clap and bubbles pop.

Your giggles call, Don’t stop! Don’t stop!

Around and around soap bubbles fly,

Whisked by the wind towards the sky.

A shiny bubble slowly twirls

And rests unbroken on your curls

The Mastadon of the La Brea Tar Pits

Only fragments remain

Bits of millennia-old bone fossilized

In tar that bubbles below

Los Angeles’ overcrowded avenues.

In the Ice Age, Mastodon was master.

Trampling sloths, skunks, lizards, insects

that scurried beneath feet, 

Deflecting predators with a flick of the head.

But a Mastodon was no match for a lake of tar.

Feet became shackles. 

Tusks a weapon of self-destruction

Digging him deeper into the pit. 

After paleontologists harvested

Teeth, tusks, and jaw, they pieced

The world’s most difficult puzzle together.

Bone stained by centuries of black,

Now the grinning beast

Is suspended from a museum ceiling.

Eye sockets stare through six foot tusks.

Past school children and tourists,

At traffic on Wilshire Boulevard, 

Skyscrapers built over tar

Trampling fragments of prehistory

And humans who scurry across pavement.

After Winter

The obedient tulip

Awakes to the alarm

Of Spring mornings;

With water’s grace

Stretches its stalk.

Then sways with winds’ whispers,

And opens flaming petals

In the afternoon sun.

*As an aspiring writer, I've been taking a poetry class.  During Joshua's nap time, I will pluck out a line here or there.  I'm always a bit hesitant to reveal myself through real writing, but have decided since I have so few readers, that I should share a bit.  I think it might help me improve.  When I was about to post this, I stopped and revised it into a completely new and better poem.  Having other eyes will hopefully be an important editing tool. 

One Year

A year ago, I trembled
as the doctor's withdrew you from my body.
Your fingers were miniature matchsticks
Your body no longer than my forearm
Sensors, tubes, IV's and a steamy incubator
replaced my womb.
Your body, fragile as rice paper
was too brittle for my weak arms.

But today is not that day.
Today we praise toothy grins and husky laughter.
Chunky hands smear crumbs
and frosting over face and fluffy curls.
Your round belly wobbles
as you teeth on new treasures.
Your cheeks are pillows for
the thousands of kisses you receive
before you fall asleep in my arms.