Nestlings

I feel the steady even pulls of their breathing

one on each side

a sweaty pressing in of

knees and elbows

sour breath that once

was milky sweet

with all the love

I could pour into them

 

one lumbering boy just on the edge of bolting

in a year he will be out of my reach

cocooned away in a nest of his own

not nearly a man but

so far from boy

from babe

 

and the girl

so full of spark

a razor sharp reminder of all the ways in which

I fall so short

so often

but how she adores me and yes

she will be mine a while yet

 

these moments are ancient

every mother in a line

falling back away

into pasts I cannot touch

but are a hidden piece of me

every mother held her children in the dark

and dreamed

 

 

 

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