Parenting is shift work-
taking turns to fend off
exhaustion,
like passing each other
in a turnstile;
each revolution
a separate trial.
I see you briefly
before a hairpin turn,
graze your hand,
and then we adjourn.
Our precious daughter,
our eager son,
members of our very own
marching band.
She curls against us both,
sighs from the scent
of both our skins.
He feels the air less thin
as we descend
and yet, I know we will do this
hillside dance again.
The dawn squints
puffy, tired eyes,
but each sunrise
is a new surprise view.
I rise to waltz you into day,
another chance to share
in life’s beautiful cabaret.
My son has been battling his seasonal allergies the past few days, which has kept us all on call here. Reminded me of this poem from right after he was born, as well as this lovely song by The National.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
And they still grade you an F 🤣
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Right, will need to study more, I think.
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I’m sure you’ll get Honors!
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I hope your son is better soon. 😊
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Thank you very much.
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This is gorgeous.
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Thank you, kindly.
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It pays less than minimum wage but love is priceless.
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Agreed. There’s no hazard pay for parents, but you know you’re changing the world, at least one tiny bit of it.
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Beautifully described. I felt every line of it.
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Thanks, worms. I’m learning about love and sacrifice from a whole different perspective these days.
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Yes..💕
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a lovely poem, K: I love the extended metaphor 🙂
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Thank you kindly, John. Just getting off late shift here soon.
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it doesn’t seem to interfere with your writing 🙂
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I am always looking for the next moment of possible writing time, but thanks. I enjoy all of my full-time jobs. 😉
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