motherhood
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Beauty Is Fleeting
I had a lovely beauty mark on the knuckle of my right hand. My whole life I secretly admired it, along with a soft brown spot along the base of my palm. I imagined that if a palm reader were reading my palm they would point these two spots out as my sun and moon,… Continue reading
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Walking In April
Crocus and snowdrops are the suckling pigs this spring, coming up fat and hot in the April sun. I watch as a squirrel carries in his mouth the lifeless body of a bird, deflated like a month-old balloon. He didn’t make the kill, that’s obvious—it’s just some poor old sparrow that died his own way… Continue reading
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Singing Infants and The Last Song
I’ve been thinking lately of a connected sequence of things, the first being, that Naima, now two months old, has begun to sing. She shows a strong preference for the following songs: Wild Is The Wind by Nina Simone (but sung by me)The Littlest Birds by The Be Good Tanyas (but sung by me)The Wind… Continue reading
children, dailyprompt, family, grief, journal, life, love, memoir, mother, motherhood, music, relationships, singing, womanhood -
Growing Old
Gardenia Are the whitest white you’ve ever seen, Except for the hairs escaping my brain To surface slowly on my head Like the last ever flowers Of a dying earth. Continue reading
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Never Come Empty-Handed, and Other Life Lessons
I don’t know where I truly learned it from, although I originally attributed the gracious wisdom to my Persian father and my categorically Mediterranean mother…but having now known them in later life, I don’t think this was their strong suit. Perhaps they picked up flowers once or twice, to impress, but my dad showed up… Continue reading
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Adventures In Baby Wearing
Today was the first day Naima and I ventured into the world on our own. Of course, ten years ago I was running around the world with a baby and a toddler. But today felt different. The world has changed, and so have I. I’m not old and feeble, but I am older. I wore… Continue reading
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The Ninth Month: A Prayer To My Unborn Baby
In my ninth month of growing you, Naima, I begin the return to myself. Your mother has been walking through dust so that men mistake her for a fallen city. You don’t yet know what a mother is. I am the first god you will have, but only accidentally, and then you’ll have more and… Continue reading
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Saturday Night Prayer Meetings: Part One
For any of this to make sense I would have to start by saying that us four kids were raised entirely without religion and an absence of spiritual thought altogether. The closest my mother came to speaking on spiritual matters was claiming she saw ghosts in each new home we inhabited (we moved around a… Continue reading
About Me
A poet living in Ontario. Mostly works of memoir and poetry that focus on motherhood, womanhood, and relationship to self.