I Mother

I mother like I’m still in a state of shock,
as improbable as it still seems that these two intoxicating human beings
came out of this one drunk on love stories human
— busy living in her daydreams,
had I not been there myself — doing the damn thing
introducing you head first to breathe in the world
as acute despair washed over me in waves of unprecedented pain,
I would struggle to believe that this is all true today

I mother like a drunken sailor trying to navigate choppy Seas
all arms flailing and slurred speech
with footnotes that nobody else can read,
almost drowning with each breath
but still — the Captains hat fits my head
with nothing but my love light keeping us afloat
like a punchline to a crappy joke that no one will admit they wrote
I raise my hand and say ‘it was me’
— now keep watching as I fail most beautifully

I mother like I’m Poetry,
a tale of fact and fiction and glory and tragedy
like a bridge over troubled water
— that can’t be burned down
and footprints are etched into your skin
as you keep trying to hold up the whole Universe somehow,
but how much further can ones limbs be stretched out —
before cracks appear in bones and your soul leaks out?

I mother like a grown up taking baby steps,
like I’ve swapped places with my firstborns nickname sake Bambi —
and it’s me that’s on ice
knowing I’ll never win trophies in ice-skating
but will keep getting up
and besides — that accolade and those blades don’t impress me much

I mother just like fine wine
— getting a little better with some concentrated care
and the privilege of years and years of time