Mothering
The thing about single mothering
is that you can't have a feeling
without the children, the animals,
the house itself
having it with you.
Your heart is not a sanctuary,
it is a compound.
I haven't had a solitary feeling
since my five year old son saw me cry for the first time
and decided to live in the wilderness
and survive off of the generosity
of hoarding squirrels,
until his sister called him in with a reminder
about fire ants
and his present lack of claws.
We grieve together, always--
such injustice.
They are certainly not learning
that the world is an inheritance
of meritocratic bliss.
I suppose that's the up side.
But they are taking the body blows of loss--
theirs and mine alike--
as if they were prepared
for the atrocities of love.
The alternative, of course,
is to make them objects of hope,
rather than its water bearers.
And when, precisely, then
would our souls meet?
That magic was simply
unwilling to wait.
