What is real?
Feeling popular? Thin? Getting big checks? Lots of people in a room who say your name at the door before they get their wrist stamped and their ID's out? Feeling successful? Trying so hard, trying so hard?
Or bees in the grass
Or my baby's hands while she is nursing, wrapping around themselves like a prayer, swaying around like a celebration, loving this pure food, just loving.
The shadows from the trees on the living room floor
Pictures of my son, my beloved gone one,
My broken heart,
My heart so full.
I feel like being quiet
And letting all these things be.
I feel like letting go of branding
and being interesting
and loud and passionate and funny.
I feel like going into the lacy dark hold of being one who brought life forward
And let life go;
I feel like giving up
And giving into this full hearted love
This simplest wish
to be a mama.
Let all songs sing from here.
Let them come when they come.
Let them wrap themselves around
Like the sweet pea vines I planted
And I'll hold out my arms for them
And watch them curl and grow
From this happier place.
To be a mom who holds things in her mind and heart
even when she can't get them to the page or the piano
I feel like not trying so hard
And being happy.