Unready, Unsteady

I spent last week sorting through thousands of family photos, which explains this week’s burst of parenting poetry. As I told my Aunt Lisa, the writing keeps me sane. I’m posting as I write, so no doubt this will see some editing in the future. I write a lot about vulnerability, so I’m trying to practice what I preach and put it out there. Maybe there is a parent in the thick of it who will relate.

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Unready, Unsteady

I wanted it, wanted you

Wanted to know

If I could love

If I could matter

 

The flutter surprised

A minnow released

In the quick changing bump

Of my young, nervous belly

 

Only thirty-six weeks

Not the forty they promised

I was unready – really

Who could be ready?

 

You took what I had

My time, mind, and sleep

What was left of my confidence

A trembly beginning

 

I did what I could

Did most of the things

Rock, sang, and fed

Did I love? Could I?

 

Worried and laughed

Tested and read

To understand need

To plan and protect

 

There is no place safe

In this world for a child

I watched them hurt you

Steal my favorite smile

 

Sat outside your door

2:30 a.m.

In a panic because

Your shell was too thin

 

Oh it was too thin

And your heart was too large

Your mind was too sharp

Taking everything in

 

You wanted to die

I understood why

I wanted to join you

My love was true

 

Love stays that hard

No relief, small reward

But most days we live

And most days we want to

 

~Alyson Hinkie, February 25, 2019

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The Hive

Parenting teens is not for wimps.

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The Hive

In close quarters of

The place you call prison

It is bound to happen

 

The wrong day, the wrong room

The wrong dress, the wrong face

A smile full of freedom

 

Angry hive, unattached, waiting

To land their desperate sting

A swarm with no queen to guide them

 

You stumble out

Alive but marked by

Fear and weak poison

 

Knowing tomorrow I will send you

To fly the same path and I

Will say ridiculous things

 

Like

 

They’re only bees

Lost insects – no mission

Thinking their job is to sting instead of

 

Spreading beautiful things

And I’ll say to you, “Love them,” for one day

They will make honey

 

~Alyson Hinkie, February 24, 2019