Wednesday, 2 November 2011

Truth and beauty: what a mother knows ...


I walk behind,
they ahead,
laughing and insouciant,
too loud on lithe, lovely legs

The girl striking, green eyes
and thick wavy hair,
who also happens to be a genius
with low self-esteem
(and strange fingers due to fever,
once you hold them and stroke them,
you realize how short they are,
and crooked
and unfortunately sweaty)
but they work so well with
type, and charm birds with a clarinet

The blue-eyed boy a swaggerer
or maybe it’s just the age—13—
and broad, so very broad,
those shoulders
(so broad that they were stuck
at birth, and one collarbone
was snapped, like a twig,
to remove him)
but great for batting practice
or hauling wood
or establishing dominance
among the other bull calves

These are mine I want to say,
as they cut a swath through the mall.

But they are not mine.

They belong to each other,
and to whomever is beguiled
by their crooked fingers and green eyes,
broken bones at birth, and blue eyes,
warped, mended, derivative

flawed, and so beautiful

PD/Nov 2/2011



Beautiful, Philippa. Dammit, we love our kids, eh?

Philippa Dowding said...

Dear Weird: yup, we love em, flaws and all. Such is motherhood!