Tomato

Merciless in the frost around my fruit
Ripened sweet and turned hard
I'm bit by tiny insects in a trace, and once
By a field mouse, as a test.

The seeds have gathered around
In crescent communities and clusters
With each an egg and a slip
Gliding constellations in the dark,

In hues of yellow, green, and red
To human eyes, of course. They're
Ready for a long journey down a
Hatch through, life through the grit.

First Thing in the Morning

The idea was to separate me
from a tangle of children
Warm limbs, pile of my love
Little arms around my neck.

The cold air and the orange seeping
In through the curtains were
Surely the call of a different
Kind of sleeping, waking

Into my life is impossibly real
Children, husband, work, running
Cooking in all that space of
Cold air greeting, the piles of results

Of all that on every room floor
with Legos.

8/23/2014

Sharing with My Mother

The more I try to reassure my mother,
The more she suspects...

The concerns and cares I shoulder,
I conceal and collect.

Her ears keen to the notes I offer,
My anxiety she dissects.

Taking on more as I grow older,
Less her fear affects.

Understanding her and less eager,
I share all; she accepts, connects.

9/7/2012