Rocking Chair
As I rocked my babes to sleep,
Nursed them, soothed them, prayed they’d keep.
I thought all sorts of scary things,
Thoughts that gave every fear wings.
Only sometimes those thoughts went silent,
And moments here my only quiet.
This rocking chair became my throne,
Where I reigned and hid away unknown.
Dinged by dirty fingers and unwashed hair,
Climbed on, spilled on, and one slight tear.
The little one now refusing my lap,
Just as he’s now refusing a nap.
The day arrives far too quickly,
But first I’ll scoop each up swiftly.
A final rock, a final snuggle,
A final book with muddy puddles.
They won’t give it a single thought,
For them it’s more space for trains and art.
But before it’s gone, I’ll slip back in,
Fold up my legs, knees to chin.
I’ll take one more moment for myself,
To remember the long nights, tight hugs and warm baby breaths.
Once my shelter from a mother’s storm,
Feelings processed, answers formed.
A few last back and forths to tell myself,
This moment is for you as much as anything else.
