On The Rebound

I never aimed for the ritzy

life, losing my patent leathers

a minute after being shod,

tearing the ruffles and lace

in my haste toward sanctuary

on a dirt trail.  And truly, has there

ever been a properly nourished

three-year-old?  Who can handle

the bundle of curiosity and intelligence,

a running stream along the frozen banks

of parents, worried about some future

peril?   Civilizing the savage —

oh, the strength of that little monster —

with a death grip before the child darts

into traffic.  Channeling all that fear

and pain just here, into these

specific tissues, strapping on the family

baggage.  Seems a surefire way

to dampen this wildness,

but the inflammation will

smolder undetected for decades.

With a grandmother’s eyes,

I see the preoccupied surprise

at the antics of a being

in joy — damn it, bills to pay and photos

to post and likes to count.

I’ve got time to honor every pain

and ache a day with him

exposes, a little girl desperate

for attention, crawling beside him

in my lap, where finally I can give

everything I’ve hoped to receive

from everyone else.

Inspired by:  Ritzy, Baggage, Bundle and Strength.

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Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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