Rocking Chair

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

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.

--

--

--

Taking my first steps into a writing career. Blogging at homeontheedge.com

Love podcasts or audiobooks? Learn on the go with our new app.

Recommended from Medium

To Be, Nothing Needs To End

Food-job And Head-job

Some streets they siphon the air right off of you

Listening for the End

The invisible line

Bite the Bullet and accept your destiny

What Am I Looking For…

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Mary Lanaux Katzman

Mary Lanaux Katzman

Taking my first steps into a writing career. Blogging at homeontheedge.com

More from Medium

Chronic Pain Makes Every Day a Battle

This Fool Thought You Were the Dummy

A black gentleman sitting in a bar staring into his empty glass.

Discover a Prose Poem on Your Next Walk

Image of a gray barn in a farm field in the early evening under a cloudy sky.

EXPLAINING MY DEPRESSION TO MY SIX YEAR OLD SELF