What will the memories of this past year be? Perhaps, one of the hardest years of my life.
Will they be filled with the rose colored tinge of nostalgia, like the pain of childbirth that time and contentment erase?
Or will they darken the day, coming in as sharp, stinging nettles in the surprise of their remembrance?
There are times in life
When the world spins around you
And though you move slow
Time is relentless
And, despite your best efforts to catch it
Time falls through your fingers like sand
It’s been a minute
Established routines were lost
To time’s onslaught
Yet, the spinning slowed
And suddenly Autumn was in the air.
As summer dwindles,
I can think clearly
A breeze has begun.
Listless still, but cold and crisp
It harbors the fall.
and the end of an old cycle
But, underneath the wind
A budding laugh grows
And she awakens
Like a new spring
Looking through photos
Brings a honeyed nostalgia
That’s soured with fear
What if I remember
Only the picture? And not
The sweetness of the moment?
Trying to make sense
Of a life in upheaval
Is like trying to
Hear a conversation between ants
You can see them, sure
See that they’re conversating
Their little antennae move
And they hustle forward with purpose
But what they said?
It’s non-sensical.
Problems are like this too
They appear, but don’t make sense
And decisions must be rushed toward
with all the purpose
of an ant on a mission
but none of the understanding.
It’s never enough
You can work – or stay at home
You can have game nights
And family dinner
You can take an interest
Or give them some space
But no matter what
To a teenager…
It’s never enough
How do I begin?
You had to grow up too soon.
You were the strong one
The oldest kiddo
With the most responsibility
As you celebrate this day
I think that the hardest times
Are finally behind
Sometimes I feel like
I’m a placeholder for others
Because of me
Their world stays in tact.
They’re allowed to grow, and be
While I remain fixed.
Always straggling behind
In the shadow of their success.
Labor division
Is never equitable
Where kids are involved
Hard work is not done
In the moments or seconds
That come after pain
No, hard work is done
In the smile of encouragement
The breath of patience
The tears of frustration
Hard work is not just blood or sweat
Those are momentary…
Fleeting
Hard work is done
In the creation of the scar
And the faded memory it becomes
Hipstory 