This poem was written when I was deep inside the motherhood wormhole.

untitled

in her most secret
quiet moments

after the kids
have fallen deep
in rolling waves of dreams

and even the dog
exhales sighs;
she tries

to re-knit
the unraveled threads
of her life.

wiping dry
the comfort of
peanut butter kisses

smoothing down the
fist-clenched gathers and
snot-wiped wrinkles

of her day.
Her chest opens,
she reaches in and

pulls out
her pulsing
heart, cradles it

in these quiet moments
listening to the
shadowy faint hurrahs

of lives not lived,
somewhere beyond the
silent smotherings

the drowning
gasps of air.