Measuring

Just like my Mother,
I never measure the
salt when cooking,
instead we add it in
small pinches between
our fingers until
it seems about
right.

Really we don’t measure
much of anything
in the kitchen,

instead adding a
dash here and a dollop there.

But my father, he measures
two or three times before putting on his goggles
and turning on the saw.

As children we didn’t know
much of the real lives
of our parents.

Really, how could we have –

but if we are lucky we
learn it as we grow.

Change happens
like water dripping –
slowly,
one blow at a time.

Circadian

Rising is:

the knowledge
that I have
everything
I need;

missing an old friend,
so odd that it has been
three years;

the joy
and monotony
of each day;

anxiety at knowing I can’t do it all,
that I will always disappoint someone;
the cold crisp air outside;
learning to structure an
unstructured day;

too much want,
and a desire to release;

learning that not enjoying
does not make me a failure;

that I can be disappointed by those I love
and still love them;

Rising is
faith
taking us
gently into each new day.

Truth and a Lie

There is a song
at the base of my skull
pulling me along.

A drum beat in my temple
reminding me of sacred things

each daily holy ritual –
worship through repetition
and forgiving.

Motherhood
cuts so deep.

When I was young
I couldn’t see
that parents were
just people.

I never saw the struggle, the questions,
until I became one.

They don’t share with us their
weaknesses and mistakes
until they become our
weaknesses and
mistakes.

They do not see it as a lie
(maybe truth is only truth
for a little while).

I may do it differently
I think as the music pulls
me along and my baby girl
begins to wake up from
her nap.