Literary Mama is a proud member of the following organizations:
The International Mothers Network
The Council of Literary Magazines and Presses
Corn silks tangle
between my wet fingers.
My husband plays guitar,
the notes like water over rocks.
My eleven-year-old twins won’t get up
on Thursdays–ballroom dancing
in gym class. He feigns a stomachache,
she bellows: “Not in a million years
will I ask, ‘Can I have this dance?’”
Bells tolled this morning
As I drank my coffee
Over the Sunday paper
And my daughter brushed the dog,
Getting him ready for a party in her mind.
Unbuttoning a man’s shirt,
your hands grow girly, careful. A methodical–
metaphysical?–awe for what’s on the other side.
We were walking under maples.
It was enough to bloom inside my chest:
This. Just this.
my heart incumbent upon your left ear
The father rearranged every surface of the body
jumprope, guitar, left foot wrong
reordered knees and angular thoughts,
the pared down palette of a child…