The Holy Days

The weather outside is frightful

And we have no fireplace

The window panes seem to creak without sound

The smiling faces of my children

Hold things in their gaze 

Seemingly every time

For the first time

Cardboard mushrooms

Alphabet soup

The clacking stick you wish you hadn’t bought

Everything is an umbrella

For Singing' in the Rain

They play and they chase and they crawl  and discover

The light switches are a wonder

The books are galaxies 

My eldest brushes her beautiful disheveled curls

Back into her eyes

Her world is a musical

Set to dancing

Her lithe arms and legs 

Tumbled up in her bed

Surrounded by a menagerie of friends

My youngest 

So eager to smile

Craving constant arms around her

She sleeps eventually 

At my breast

Reaches tiny fingers out for my face 

In the night

There is nothing more peaceful 

I wish with the first one

That I had never looked at the internet

Not worried so much about

How long she should sleep

Where she should sleep and when

Whether or not she cried

I'm soaking this one up 

But still

It soars by me

Like a flock of black birds 

Taking leave of the line all at once

If there's a third 

Maybe I'll just never set them down

I take my cues from the Mother Lion

They cry

I come

Sometimes with a grumble

Scoop them up into safety 

Lightly they travel in my jaw

He carries them both

Whenever they want him 

For tickles and laughs and songs

He gives them

Adoration on every side

Like a strong tower 

 
I hear her breath 

So determined 

In and out

Her perfect nose

Breaks my heart

I lay back in the pillow 

Imagine he's home from the show

Planting a kiss on my forehead 

Play the sound of his keys in the door

Over and over 

And the place between his ear and shoulder

The rumbly laugh in his chest

The time he said

"You looked so beautiful...and that was before you even smiled."

I'm the luckiest 

So what

They take years off my life 

Add lines to my face

Steal the stretch from my skin

Make me weep and fail

And then 

Make my heart burn bright while we laugh

What's so wrong with being tired

Or growing older

Having a clever crinkle 

Around the eyes

These are the Holy Days

These are the memories of my children

The nostalgia that will spur them to goodness

My death bed reel

And there's something a little blasphemous 

In trying to erase entirely

The evidence of our existence together

Something a little greedy and cowardly 

In trying to hoard your expired youth

At the expense of silver lined "experience"

What's more beautiful than being exhausted by a life of love

Or looking 

A little worse for the wear

A little fuller 

A little lean

Tawny and deadly

Soft and comfortable 

Disheveled and loved 

Down to the very last drop 

Worn and weary

And stronger than steel

Just like a Mom