Two Children on a Sunday
He is all elemental, stick and strength, born of my strong
body, his muscles rest in mine.
She is of mythic space, silky fabrics that swirl, a soft hum
of rhythm, music,
she thinks things through, eyes blue pools of understanding,
mind an eddy of questions, connections. When he loves hard, he bites, doesn’t yet get
her need for harmony, soft fabrics that twirl, thoughts deep
in the mystic
until he throws himself on top of her and they wrestle and
roll,
their fierce eddy of connection, the bite, the fervor and
hard love of
our mothers and fathers, our driftwood histories and stories
smoothed like small bits of stone.
He throws himself into all he does, wild haired abandon,
voice dissonant, loud
and she’s beginning to seek quiet discernment, thoughtful
hours with scissors and paper,
honors the mothers and fathers, our driftwood histories and
stories like stones, polished, altered,
she sifts through her own, the suddenly leafless trees, gray
dull of November, river still and low.
After hours quiet with scissors and paper, thoughtful discernment,
she says,
Mama. I have a
secret. I’m actually a mermaid with a
golden tail…
and she splashes her gold against the suddenly leafless
trees, splashes light against the dull of November, across the still river,
thick curls wet down
her back, eyelashes drip diamonds in the early, quiet evening.
Mama. I have a
secret. I’m actually a transforming
ninja and I have powers to defeat you,
and with a few pow-pows, his mighty make-believe sword, he
flies from the stairs,
thick curls, wild sprigs of rebellion, eyelashes drip
diamonds in the early, quiet evening.
My heart a full sphere of pulsing light, of absolute
devotion and profound exhaustion.
With the assembly of another make-believe day, night, we
land in the dark,
feel our way, eyes weary pools of understanding,
hearts full in the pulsing light, absolute devotion and
profound exhaustion,
all elemental, blood and bone,
born from this body,
the still river,
our muscles rest.
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