Oh, gosh

That happened so long ago we'd all nearly forgotten it entirely. In fact, I think we did. Forget it. Another atmosphere or set of sun struck vines. Another of your very many illuminations. The tv has been turned off for weeks. Who could want it on at a time like this?

Neglected

The baby at the seashore,
mid-August, again
sun roiling all about it
the draft and the dingy,
your gem my what have
you, to give? her erstwhile
pretending it's Ellicott Bay
and you, pocket laden
illicit and out-to-be-anywhere
elsewhere, small cots
cats in cradle-style, bamboo
struck as a net to encase
hold and persist in belief
and the what in god's
name are you doing it for?

slow go

and sleepy, but it's spring. We'll be outside in the blue air this afternoon dreaming of prairies and lakes. The girl will be glad to run and come home sleepy. The baby, ever cuddly and ever more alert, will put his small face to the sun. We'll hope for good news from Indiana and write postcards to the past.

The literati list

Me? These days, here's what I'm for:

tuna cassaroles
literary biogaphies
Zelda Fitzgerald
airports
0-3 month little white t-shirts
Music for Aardvarks
teal green
Cookie magazine
A line dresses
celebrities singing on Sesame Street
Matthea Harvey

Night into a line

and the house clean, the babes asleep, the democratic party still in turmoil. During last night's debate, my precocious 2 year old says, "Is Barack Obama taller?" "Yes." "Why is Barack Obama wearing a tie?" "Because he's on t.v." Pause. Pause. Pause. "Is Hillary Clinton wearing a tie?" "Is she?" "No, she don't." The temperature hit 70 degrees today for the first time in about 6 months, so there's hope yet.

Sleep is occassional

A tired Sunday night, the boy asleep on my chest and earlier this eve the girl also asleep on my shoulder. The perfect picture of quiet love and cozy. And spring at last arrived; 60 degrees and sunny, the house slowing warming and, despite the haze of life anew and only intermittent sleep, in order. These are the hours we want to stretch into always.

present participle of

Baby asleep on my chest, toddler asleep across the hall; one week into this new life and all our lives anew. Luckily we're all happy and healthy. Convalescing at home for the first few weeks and remembering the ways in which we know each other and how fragile is this life. The baby grows already, surpassing birth weight and more fleshy by the day. Toddler excelling at older siblinghood. "Hi little brother, I'm your big sister. I love you baby brother." And he smiles already, I swear.