Wait a minute. What kind of a mother would I be if I sat here all day folding pink and black leotards and hanging Easter dresses on hangers? A boring one, that’s what. Girls, there are things you must surrender to, and on occasion, that includes your creative passions. I think Tess Gallagher would agree. Here’s my rearrange.
I Stop Folding the Clothes
to write the poem.
No matter who lives or who dies
I’m still a woman.
I’ll always have plenty to do.
I weave the words of these lines
together; nothing can stop this
ecstasy. I’ll get back to the clothes,
I’ll get back to being a woman.
But for now, there’s a river,
a rushing river in my soul
waiting to be penned;
and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it’s done.