Since the baby came certain things are on pause—
it’s hard to find time to write, to think,
to grieve, to pray
except through my body as I rock and sway,
rock and sway my little one to sleep.
Other things are going fast-forward—
there’s no stopping kids growing,
squabbling, questioning everything
and making messes everywhere I look.
In the anxious moments of early morning,
my mind tries to rewind,
to second-guess and over-analyze
but there’s no going back.
What I’m forgetting
as I grasp for control
and it slips like sand though my fingers
is the one button I need to press:
Play right now, as things are
in the mess and chaos of my 8 kids
doing silly dances and laughing,
finding a moment of togetherness.
Be right now—
allow myself to have a moment alone
walking under the cherry blossoms—
stopping to listen to the hummingbird
who sings above me
pointing it’s tiny beak heavenward,
little messenger of my Dad.
Embrace right now with its little inspirations to
to snuggle my down-soft baby
and write an imperfect poem,
unpausing my frozen voice which felt
unable to speak
unworthy of being heard
afraid to crack open bitter walls of strength
Just press play.