I made you a poem called “Doing life together” for your birthday.
***
Another crumpled sheet on the floor
your fist a heart curling with rage
hair a bird’s nest
tears smudging an impossible question
Six years ago (six months ago, too)
your tiny hands cupped my wet cheeks
after I skinned my knees running
too fast for life’s perils:
love, unpaid dues, this lonesome parenthood
Your lips hushing me:
I am here for you, Mama
I nodded
and so will I
whenever you need me
So today, I sit next to you
thumb your anger away,
put your book on my lap and ask,
What can we do
to make this better?
Happy birthday, Lia.
Love,
Mama
